


Wickedness

by Errorcode254



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Dry Penetration, Explicit Rape, Incest, M/M, Mentioned John Egbert, No Lube, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Rape, Read the warnings, Sibling Incest, Triggers, Violence, abusive!bro, don't know how much more obvious I can be, gagging, implied rape, non-consensual anal sex, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-08 14:54:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5501876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Errorcode254/pseuds/Errorcode254
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave is just a regular high school kid. He has sleepovers, movie nights, sass fights with vaguely hidden innuendo. Of course, things begin to change when his friends notice some bruises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ==> Be the Cool Kid

==> Be the Cool Kid

Your name is Dave Strider, and your life fucking sucks. 

You walk into the apartment that you share with Bro and kick the door closed with your foot. Gently. The last thing you want is for Bro to hear it slam and come out to see what's up. Or for him to come out and say something about it. So, instead you kick it closed gently and wander into your room, tossing your bag in the general direction of your bed. 

You sigh and follow the direction of your bag to lay on the edge of your bed. Your eyes close and you lay your head back against the blanket pile that you didn't bother smoothing before you left that morning. 

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

The sound reverberates around your head and you slowly open your eyes. You blink away the fog of sleep as much as you can, searching for the source of the sound. It takes a few seconds, but the sound is soon accompanied by Bro calling you for dinner. 

“Dave, seriously. Dinner has been in the lounge room for fifteen minutes. If you're not out there soon, I'm claiming it.”

You grumble something intelligible and sit up, rubbing your eyes. With shades replaced on your face, you head to the lounge room and plop onto the couch beside Bro. He's sitting on the end of the couch, taking up way more room than he needs to. Which leaves you squished between him and the arm of the couch, trying to enjoy the sweet and sour pork. It wouldn't be so bad if you weren't sitting in the middle of Texan heat, sweat coating you where your bodies touch. But you are, and it's pretty fucking gross. 

You wiggle in your seat, trying to make some more room for yourself and force him to move over. He doesn't take the hint. When you look up, he's smirking at you and you can't help but groan. Why does he have to be a dick all the fucking time? Seriously. If he's not crowding you and being a general dick, he's initiating strifes and kicking the shit out of you, or putting creepy-ass puppets around the entire fucking apartment. You found one in the shower once – after you'd soaped up. You nearly broke your arm when you slipped while trying to escape. But that little incident only bought you a two-hour reprieve from Li'l Cal. 

So, you're squirming to get away from the heat of him, and all he does is spread his legs further until you're forced to slip off the couch and onto the floor. At least it's cooler there. You glare at him from behind your shades, and you're pretty sure he can tell because he arches an eyebrow as you flip him off and lay back on the cool wood. Whatever. 

Only a minute passes before he starts nudging you with his foot, and you kind of want to punch him. You clench your jaw and shift slightly to get out of reach, but the guy has long legs. You stand up and glare at him again. 

“I'm goin' to bed, Bro.” Short and sweet. No room for argument. Well done, Dave. 

“At 8pm?” Well, shitballs. You pull out your phone and check the time. You shrug. 

“I wanna pester John for a while first.” With that, you turn, leaving him on the couch and closing your bedroom door. You take up your earlier position on your bed before you open Pesterchum and check out your list. You have one chum online, and it is definitely not John. It's the perpetually angry douche-muffin with grey text and a size complex. 

You toss your phone onto the blankets beside you. 

The last thing you need right now is to talk to him. While it is always fun to talk circles around him, you're pretty sure he's going to have an aneurysm if you do it again this week. He doesn't seem to enjoy your company. You drop your shades onto the mattress beside your head and drape your arm over your eyes. Because, let's be honest, you're too lazy to get up and turn the light off. This will have to do. Looks like you will be going to bed at 8pm. Getting in touch with your inner child and all that jazz. 

You groan roll over, burying your face into the pillow. You won't be able to sleep at this time of night. Not after you fell asleep earlier. 

Grumbling, you get up and collect some clothes from a pile on the floor. You're pretty sure they're clean. Passable, at any rate. You open your bedroom door and peek into the hallway. When you see no signs of Bro or his puppets, you slip out and make your way to the empty bathroom. With the door locked (not that it helps, you're pretty sure the puppet was put in the shower _after_ you got in), you strip and set the water to the right temperature. You've never been one for long leisurely showers, not like Bro anyway. You've always been a get in-get out kinda guy, with the exception of hair care. Because seriously, your hair is soft as all fuck and you'll be damned if it doesn't stay that way. 

Which is why tonight you take longer in the shower than normal. You're makin' sick fires and enjoying the feeling of the lukewarm water running over your body and washing the suds out of your hair. Technically you washed your hair last night, but you have more time than you know what to do with, and you're actually having a good time. Bro certainly has the right idea about long showers because this shit is decadent. You feel like a princess. Ironically, of course. 

You haven't even been in the bathroom for ten minutes (a third of Bro's usual shower time) when he starts banging on the door of the bathroom. It's like you aren't allowed a moment of peace when he's at home. God, you can't wait for the weekend when he's out at the clubs and you get most of the night to yourself. You sigh and quickly wash the remainder of the suds from your skin. 

“Yeah, alright. I'm getting out. Fuck.” You continue to mumble under your breath as you dry yourself off and put your pants on. You throw your towel over your shoulder and leave your old clothes on the floor where they fell as you slam the door open and glare at him. 

“What the fuck, Bro? A kid can't have a fucking shower around here?” 

He's looking over your shoulder and arches a brow. You know what he's getting at. He's asking what you think you're doing, leaving them on the floor. You answer him with a silent shrug and move to slip past him. He interrupted you and cut your shower short. If he wants the bathroom so bad, he can pick them up himself. You slip into the hallway and he grabs your shoulder. 

“Pick them up, you little shit.”

You freeze. It's not that he doesn't talk to you like this at other times. You've come to think of 'Little Shit' as a term of endearment. This time though.. There was an edge to his voice that made you stop. Something had pissed him off, and there was no way you're going to be the one that makes it worse. 

You nod and turn back, gathering your discarded clothes in your arms and making your way past him. You don't look at him until you're entering your room again to throw them back into the pile of clothing that needs to be washed. The bathroom door is slightly ajar, and you can hear the shower running. You sag against your door as you close it. 

You've heard that tone in his voice before, and you know what to expect.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY. I DON'T KNOW WHAT I AM EVEN DOING HERE. 
> 
> I'm just kinda hoping I can not screw this up, and that I can pick an idea and stick with it. But hey.

Your alarm is blaring and you groan as you try to shut the thing off as quickly as possible. It's the same every morning. A fight with a temperamental machine that won't shut up and is bound to get you in to trouble with every second that it beeps. It wouldn't be so bad if you actually went to bed at a decent hour and weren't too tired to open your eyes in the morning. Which, honestly, would make it easier to turn the alarm off right now. 

“Would you shut that fucking thing off? Jesus fucking Christ, can't even fucking sleep in this place without being woken up by ungrateful little shits...” The rant continues from somewhere within the apartment and you roll over immediately to shut the thing off before you really make him mad. 

You do manage to turn it off rather quickly once your eyes are open, and soon enough you're getting ready for school. You like school, and it's not even ironic. School is six hours that you don't have to spend at home. More than six if you can swing it that way. Which you do. Often. Not that it's really surprising. When you're at school, you can pretend that Bro is just a normal dad, and not a drunk that has a really short fuse. You give yourself a mental shake and head into the bathroom to fix your hair and do all your other pre-school bullshit before you head out for the day. 

You hurriedly go about your morning routine and head out the door much earlier than usual. Which is probably good, because it means you might have time to make sure your homework is done and hang out with your friends before you're expected to be in class. 

You walk to school slowly, enjoying the crisp air hitting your face while the music from your ipod pounds away in your ears. You have to admit that your music is the best. If you were anyone other than a Strider, you'd probably be dancing and singing along to it in the street. But, you are a Strider, and that means you hide it all under a cold mask of indifference. And what can't be hidden by pretending it doesn't exist? Well, that's what your shades are for. They've hidden a lot over the years, and you really shouldn't be surprised that Bro is the reason you're allowed to wear them in class. But hey, it works, and you're generally left alone. 

You let your mind wander for most of the walk and before you've even registered most of the trip, you're already walking through the halls toward your locker. You must have been a little more leisurely with you walk than you intended, because the halls are full and you're not sure if you'll even make it to your locker for all the crowds. Seriously, shit's cray. 

When you do actually make it to your locker, you put in your combination and swing it open with (admittedly) more force than necessary. Normally you'd shrug it off, except that Karkat (the guy with the next locker; read: Grey Text Douchetwat) is standing there, and you're only alerted to this by the screams that follow the locker door hitting you in the face. You wince as it pushes your shades into a bruise that you didn't realise you even had. 

“Are you shitting me, you dickmunch?! You couldn't just open your fucking locker like a normal, well adjusted human-fucking-being, could you, you doucheclown. Just had to slam the thing open. Who cares about the guy next to me, we'll just smack him with the door. Well fuck you very much!”

You do your damnedest to hide the snicker that's threaten to bubble up. Honestly, you couldn't have asked for a better locker-neighbour. The guy's language is the most colourful shit you've ever heard. But, as funny as that is, laughing now would probably land you either in detention, or with a matching bruise to the one that you're hoping is well hidden under your shades. 

“Sorry.” You grunt at him as you grab your gear for the first few subjects and close your locker again before you look at him. 

It's not that you _try_ to be an asshole to the guy. It just tends to happen. Sure, it's always hilarious, and you enjoy provoking him into a battle of vocabularies, but the guy is actually pretty alright when he wants to be. You just tend to piss him off with your existence. It wouldn't be the first time that's happened. You lean against your locker and look at him from behind your shades in a lame attempt to try and pass on the message that you didn't deliberately whack him with a hunk of metal. It's safe to say that he doesn't pick up on your non-verbal cue by the way he rolls his eyes at you and stomps away. 

You smirk a little as you watch him leave. Maybe one day he'll look at you and not get pissed off, but you kind of doubt it. Honestly, you must have done something seriously fucked up to him in a past life because all you have to do is walk in to a room and you can just feel the anger radiate off him. Not that you're special or anything. Karkat's just constantly angry, really. It's actually pretty cute. 

You head in the opposite direction toward your first class, glad that you're a couple of months into the school year and don't have to check your schedule before each class any more. That shit got old really fast. You're early when you get to your classroom but you take your seat, glad you're alone in the room when you gasp at the pain in your side as you sit at your desk. 

Ok. So you probably should have checked yourself out before you left the house. What do they say about hindsight?

By the time school is over, you're pretty sure that if there wasn't a bruise on your ribs _before_ you started school, there definitely is now. If not for all the pain you've encountered by sitting down (you're much better at hiding the wince when you expect it), then it's definitely there from the stray elbows that hit you as you manoeuvred through the halls between classes. Why is it that things only hit you in the places where you're already sore? Seriously. 

And it's now that you wish you'd picked a fight with Karkat and gotten detention. Or, y'know, had friends that didn't live in different towns. You shrug. You're tired, and you really just want to snuggle as far into your blankets as possible. Except this is Texas, you're still at school, and honestly, fuck that noise. 

You follow your usual routine and find a bench under a tree on the school grounds. It's the only place that you can actually get your homework done. You tried taking it home a few times. Somehow the creep figured out pretty quickly that you were busy and decided to make it difficult. Like, seriously, isn't algebra hard enough? 

Speaking of algebra, this question is kicking your ass. You blink a few times at it, hoping the answer will just appear on the page in front of you. (Who does it even think it is? It should work itself out for you. You're awesome like that.) Unfortunately, the problem doesn't take note of the awesomeness radiating from you and therefore doesn't solve itself. You really can't concentrate today. You groan and lift your shades slightly to rub at your eyes. 

You don't even think anything of it until you hear a noise from in front of you. You pull your hands away and let your shades fall back over your eyes before you look at the guy. Karkat is standing at you, and the lack of a scowl on his face would be hilarious if the situation was different. You know what he saw. The beginning (or, by this point, it probably was way past beginning) of a black eye, hidden by the dark mirrored shades. You raise an eyebrow at him and he coughs, looking away from you faster than he can summon his ever-present frown back into place. 

He looks like he wants to say something to you. His eyes are flitting back and forth between you and the parking lot. You tilt your head slightly and his mouth twitches. You figure that he's about to ask what happened, when his phone buzzes at him. After a glance at his phone he mumbles something about his ride being there to get him. 

“Later.” You reply. Although, you hope not. That isn't a conversation you want to have. Maybe he'll have forgotten by tomorrow. Or, you could avoid him. That'd be nice. It's not like you have many classes together and you don't sit together in the ones you do share anyway, so it shouldn't be a problem. 

You spend longer than you usually would, trying to get your homework done before you head home. You actually manage most of it before you deem it a useless task and pack your shit away. The trip home is quiet and you don't even bother with your music. You're usually home by now and being late isn't something you really want to test out. You don't think it'd end too badly. It's not like you have a curfew. It'd probably just put him in a bad mood. Or a worse one. 

He's not visible as you enter your apartment and your heart skips a beat. Maybe he got a DJ-ing gig. That'd mean he'd be out for most of the night and you could have a nap without the possibility of a strife. 

You dump your bag in your room and scope out the apartment quietly on your way to the bathroom. It looks pretty empty. Leaving the door open, you switch the light on and make your way to the mirror. You might as well figure out what Shouty McShouterson saw. Then you can work on a story. Your shades come off quickly and blink against the sudden excess light in your eyes. 

It's not all that impressive, you decide. Your nose isn't broken or swollen, and your eye is only purple in the centre of the bruise. The rest is just this weird bluish colour. Bordering on green around the edges. If it wasn't painful, you could appreciate the colours. You're actually tempted to run to your room and get your camera to document the art behind it. 

You don't, though. You're not stupid. 

You take a breath of relief that it isn't bad and get a stab of pain for your effort. Oh yeah. Your ribs were a thing, too. You lift your shirt and wince at the tightness of your side. When the shirt comes off you watch yourself in the mirror, your eyes glued to your side. This bruise is a lot worse. Bound to happen when you take a few kicks, but you weren't expecting this. Your side is swollen and the bruises are pretty dark there. Purple is definitely not your colour. Your eyes follow the bruise trail down to the band of your pants and you vaguely wonder how much further it goes. 

You're about to slide your jeans down to investigate when something catches your eye. You look up and see him. Standing in the doorway behind you. He's watching you and you're honestly not sure if you should turn around and meet him face to face or ignore him and hope he goes away. You try to study his face, but he's not giving anything away. Finally you sigh and turn to look at him.

He takes a step toward you. 

Your phone dings in your pocket. 

You _really_ should have locked the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Karkat and Dave get some bro-bonding happening. Bronding. (I don't remember who I stole that from. I'm sorry.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SBURBANITE FOR PUTTING UP WITH MY SHIT AND READING THIS CRAP BEFORE I POSTED IT. YOU'RE GREAT. 
> 
> pesterlogs are still hard.

**== > Be the perpetually angry douche-muffin with grey text and a size complex**

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you don't have a fucking size complex, okay?! 

You really did try to forget about Dave and his problems. Seriously, it's not unusual for teenagers to have bruises on them. In fact, you're not even sure if it's unusual for him. You've never really seen his face behind those fucking shades. But something about this particular bruise just seemed.. wrong. You've never seen him interact with anyone, really, so you doubt it was a normal teenage brawl. 

You managed to avoid thinking about it for most of the afternoon. Homework had served as a pretty fantastic way to keep yourself occupied. You'd only just finished the last of it, actually, and you're currently in the kitchen helping yourself to the fridge. Or, you would, if there was actually food that you didn't have to prepare.

It's official. Dieting only works because you're too lazy to make anything. 

You close the fridge door and walk up to your room empty handed. Well, mostly. You do have your bag, which gets dropped somewhere in the general direction of your desk as you slam your door shut. Your phone is out of your pocket before you even drop onto your bed. 

Dave is online, so you assume he must be home by now. You bite your cheek and click on his name, ready for the onslaught of assholery that he's kind of famous for. 

carcinoGeneticist [CG] started pestering  turntechGodhead [TG]

CG: HEY.   
CG: WHAT THE HELL WAS UP WITH YOU TODAY?  


You sit there looking at your phone for about 2 minutes with no reply from Dave. Well, fuck him right back. If he doesn't want to talk to you, that's fine. You'll just forget everything you saw because obviously it's not a big deal. You shove your phone back into your pocket and seethe about the situation. 

You may not be the nicest guy to him, but you're pretty sure he doesn't hate you. Maybe you're just overstepping your boundaries. You know; those invisible fences that no one ever talks about but they silently dictate what you can and can't say in conversation with people. 

Social etiquette sucks, man. 

You're about to make some lame apology when your phone buzzes and lights up.

**== > Be the kid that's famous for his assholery**

You're sitting on the floor of the bathroom with your back against the shower door. Your breath hitches as you fumble for the phone that is probably in the pocket of your jeans. Pain lances up your spine as you drag it closer and open your eyes to read the lit up messages. 

You can't even bring yourself to be disappointed in the fact that it's not John on the other end of the messages. 

TG: dunno what youre talkin about man   
TG: all is chill in the land of irony   
TG: its like a fuckin freezer up in this joint  
TG: icecream mountains and frozen vegies or some shit   
TG: i dunno man what do you want from me   
CG: JESUS CHRIST STRIDER. CAN'T YOU BE SERIOUS FOR ONE FUCKING SECOND IN YOUR MISERABLE PATHETIC LIFE?  
TG: nah man couldnt do that  
TG: you might let down your guard  
TG: then wed have to deal with people breakin in and givin you hell  
TG: seriously itd be chaos   
CG: OH MY FUCK. JUST SHUT UP FOR A SECOND  
CG: YOU KNOW I SAW YOUR EYE  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?  
TG: *gasp* you saw my eyes  
TG: kanaya make me a wedding dress  
TG: hes sullied me for future beaus  
TG: make an honest woman outta me karkat  


You groan as you lift yourself up. The bathroom door is still open, but there's no point in closing it now. Bro has gone out for the night, as he told you shortly before leaving you curled up on the bathroom floor and slamming the door to the apartment. You limp back over to the sink and slowly ease yourself down onto the floor in front of the counter, reaching inside the cabinet for your first aid kit. You glance at the messages on your phone as you trickle peroxide over the scratches on your stomach and thighs. 

CG: THAT ISN'T WHAT I MEANT AND YOU KNOW IT  
CG: I SAW IT, OKAY?  
CG: THE BIG FUCKING BRUISE ON YOUR FACE  
CG: WHAT HAPPENED?  
CG: DAVE  
CG: STRIDER  
CG: YOU KNOW WHAT. FINE. FORGET I EVEN ASKED.   
TG: shit man sorry i was getting a drink  
TG: keep your pants on  
TG: actually no dont  
TG: take them off  
CG: DO YOU EVER SHUT UP?  
TG: do you want me to shut up or talk to you  
TG: cause idk man  
TG: youre sendin some mixed signals here  
TG: more mixed than a margarita   
TG: shaken not stirred  
CG: OH MY GOD, YOU STUPID FUCKER.   
CG: ARE YOU ALRIGHT?  
TG: yeah man you should see the other guy  


You blink back tears as you start to fill the tub with cold water. 

CG: THAT'S IT?  
CG: NO RANT ABOUT HOW HIS FACE ISN'T RECOGNISABLE ANYMORE?  
TG: nah   
TG: dont need to   
TG: you already did it for me  


You suck in a hissing breath as your body hits the cold water, wincing as you lower yourself into the tub. Maybe you should have done this before the peroxide. Seems kind of counter-productive, now that you think about it. 

Your body slowly relaxes as the cold water soothes burning, bruised skin. 

CG: RIGHT, SO I'M JUST SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE THAT YOU'RE PERFECTLY FINE.  
CG: EVEN THOUGH YOU HAVE A BLACK EYE THAT LOOKS LIKE IT COULD MAKE A HARDENED BOXER CRY  
TG: yeah look  
TG: im fine so can we just drop it  
TG: i know its hard seeing your crush looking all handsome and sore  
TG: but seriously if we could forget it and never talk about it again  
TG: thatd be great  
TG: cant have all the bitches vying for my attention comin outta the woodworks and givin you competition now can we  
CG: YOU KNOW WHAT  
CG: I TAKE IT ALL BACK  
CG: FUCK YOU  
TG: yeah yeah  
TG: night vantas  


You drop your phone back onto the floor beside the bath tub and close your eyes, sinking deeper into the water. It might be soothing your wounds and ego, but you're not going to feel any cleaner when you get out. In fact, if you let yourself think about the things you're soaking in right now, you might just add vomit to the list. 

Nope. You've gone and done it now. 

Your eyes shoot open and you get up way too quickly. The water is slippery and your whole body is protesting loudly with every move you make. It's a wonder you make it out of the tub without doing more damage. After wrapping yourself in a towel, you grab your phone and shades. You don't look in the mirror on your way out. Your door is shut tight and locked before you sink onto your mattress. Dinner just doesn't seem important right now. Before you can begin to wonder why Karkat suddenly seems to care about your wellbeing, your eyes close and you drift to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which the author has no good reason as to _why_ Bro is abusive and so we're just ignoring that as a thing. Also, the author, at this stage, doesn't feel like any of you want to actually see Dave get beaten up, and so we're just dealing with the aftermath
> 
> Yeah, I know. Fuck me, right?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which kk is really bad at comforting dave? Idek. I'm wingin' it, guys. This is pretty much just word vomit.

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you're beginning to worry about Dave. 

Yeah, okay. The guy's an asshole. But it's been two days since your conversation and he hasn't been to school since. You've tried pestering him since that conversation, but so far he hasn't responded to anything you had to say to him. Granted, all your messages were just variations of _are you ok?_ and _would you just come to school already? You're going to fail, you idiot._ Maybe you're not the best person to be doing the whole comforting thing. 

Strike that. You're definitely not the best person to be doing the whole comforting thing. You're standing in the doorway of Dave's apartment, and there is the biggest fucking guy right in front of you. This was probably a super bad idea. 

You managed to get through the rest of the day, checking Pesterchum periodically for messages from Dave to let you know he was okay. When you still hadn't received word by the end of school, you decided to take matters into your own hands. Not that you _like_ the guy. You don't. You just don't want him to feel like he has to put up with.. whatever is going on. So, you got his address from John, (honestly, what kind of friend gives a persons address to a guy that he has seen insult them on various occasions? Dave, you need new friends) and made your way over to the apartment before you could talk yourself out of it. 

Which leads you to this. Standing awkwardly in front of someone that you think might be Dave's brother. This was a dumb idea. You're about to mutter an apology and abscond right the fuck out of there when he interrupts you. 

“You here to see the Little Man?” His brow is raised. You can tell because it's poked up above his shades. Which are surprisingly even more obnoxious than Dave's. 

“Uh, yeah. Is he here?”

“Bedroom down the hall.” Before you can even blink, the guy is gone and you're closing the apartment door behind you. 

You tentatively step through the living room and into the hallway, attempting to be quiet so that you don't bother the beast that is somehow sitting on the couch like he'd never moved. Fucking weird. No wonder you never hear Dave before he shows up behind you. These guys are like fucking ninjas. 

It's not until you're standing outside his bedroom door that you realise you have no reason to be there. You didn't warn him that you were coming, and you barely talk to the guy, so you can't really just show up for no reason. You stay like that for an obscene amount of time, trying to build up the courage to knock. A voice snaps you out of whatever strange trance you'd managed to put yourself in. 

“Dave, for fuck sake, would you let the guy in sometime soon? He's starting to collect dust.”

You hear shuffling from the other side of the door before it swings open to reveal a very irritated looking Dave. His arms fold over his chest and he considers you for a moment before he steps back and lets you into his bedroom. His door shuts quickly behind you and you turn to see him leaning against it. 

“What do you want, Vantas?” He looks tired, and you narrow your eyes at him. 

“I don't know, ass-licker. Maybe to find out why the hell you haven't been at school or answering my messages?” 

Okay, you definitely should have just left this for someone else to do, because you are totally fucking it up. What happened to being supportive, Karkat? It's too late to go back now, though. You're here, you might as well do what you came to do. Which, incidentally, seems to be to yell at him. At least it's something you're good at. 

Dave sighs and walks slowly over to his desk while you awkwardly take a seat on the edge of his bed. You might have seen a lot of romcoms, but it turns out they don't actually prepare you for the reality of bursting into some asshole's house uninvited and sitting on their bed like you have every right in the world to do it. 

_Oh fuck, this was a bad idea._

“Look Strider, I'm sorry. I just haven't heard from you in a few days and it's fucking weird. You never shut up and suddenly you can't even tease me about checking up on you. What's going on with you?” 

You fidget while you wait for him to respond. That was probably the tamest thing you've ever said to him. You're honestly kind of out of your element here. Dave is the person that can take your insults and gives you a run for your money in the Pissing People Off department. Seeing him from a different perspective is throwing you for a loop and you honestly don't know what you're supposed to do. 

“Nothin' man. Just felt like takin' a few days off, y'know? Figured I'd worked really hard for like the first half of the year, I deserve a break to do nothin' but sleep in for a few days. You know. All work and no play makes the Strider dull. And Striders aren't dull, Vantas. We're like the sharpest things to ever exist. Like the best katana you could ever find. Unbreakable and perfect, man. Can't touch it. Hell, you're livin' on the wild side even being in the same room as me. Careful you don't get cut.”

You roll your eyes and grind your teeth when he's finished talking. You're pretty sure he stopped thinking about what he was saying about halfway through, and just let the words fall out of his mouth as they wanted.

“Y'know what, this was a bad idea. All you ever do is run your fucking mouth and honestly I don't know why I expected anything different from you today. God forbid you show someone that you have emotions and thoughts that aren't just verbal diarrhoea. Just forget I ever came to see you, alright? We'll go back to yelling at each other and pretend it never happened.”

You stand up and turn to leave. Your hand is on the doorknob when he stops you with his hand on yours. It's pulled away quickly, like it burned him to touch you, and you're almost offended by how fast he was to end the contact. You're really not that bad. You're like a porcupine. Soft underneath the barbs. 

“You don't have to go, bro. You can stick around. Just let me know next time, cool? We'll go meet up at a park or something. Can't have you just rockin' up and lettin' yourself into my room at any point. You might tell my fans all my secrets, and the next thing you know, I've got a room full of half naked people all tryin' to get a piece of this fine ass.”

“Your ass isn't as great as you think it is,” you respond quickly. 

“Gasp.”

You think you might be getting the hang of his ranting now. Obviously, most of what he says is just useless words that are twisted into a fashion that you're pretty sure is designed for the sole purpose of making you want to stab yourself in the ears with the closest thing you can find in order to stop the endless drivel that comes out of his mouth. But there are some actual pieces of information hidden within the rant. Or, at least you think there is. 

You could be reading way too far into it (and if you asked Dave, you're certain he'd say exactly that. Just with more words.) but you've come to the conclusion that while he doesn't actually want you to leave, he doesn't really want you coming to his place any more.

“If you don't want me showing up unannounced, then maybe you should pester me back, you moron. Then I'd at least know you hadn't managed to join some obscure fight club and gotten yourself killed. And if you came to school, I could just see you on the benches outside like I do every afternoon. I wouldn't even need to come around.”

“Don't talk about fight club, man. It's not cool. And hey, if all I have to do to spend an afternoon with you is not answer your messages, then I should have stopped that months ago. Senpai noticed me. My high school dream is now complete. Time to make a new goal. What would it take for me to spend the night with you? Or, OH!, the weekend. How much would I have to ignore you to get you to spend a weekend with me, Vantas? We could go camping and skinny dip in the lake. I'll even scrub your back if you scrub mine.” 

He winks at you. How do you know that the fucker winks at you? Because the idiot actually lowered his shades and looked over the top of them just so that you could tell that he was winking. This guy is the most pretentious pain in the ass that you have ever met. You roll your eyes and try really hard not to deepen the bruise on his face. 

You blink and look at his face properly. The bruise on his eye should have faded at least a little by now, but if anything, it actually looks darker than it was when you saw him the other day, and you're pretty sure his lip wasn't split that day either. Your gaze trails down to his neck and you think you see the start of another bruise poking out from the collar of his shirt. 

“Holy shit, Dave. What the fuck happened to you?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning. Rape/noncon. Explicit. I've put asterix before and after the rape scene for those of you that would like to skip the explicit bit. 
> 
> I am so sorry that this took that long to update. I wrote myself into a bad place and it took forever to figure out how to get out of it. I know. I'm awful. Here. Take my trash.

“Holy shit, Dave. What the fuck happened to you?” 

Oh fuck. You're the biggest idiot on this side of the equator. Seriously. What in the name of all that is holy made you decide that pulling down your shades was the right thing to do right now? You'd like to say that you'd forgotten what had happened, but there is no way that would ever happen. You probably _can_ claim that you forgot that your black eye was worse than what he'd seen last time. Of course you'd have forgotten that. You don't make a habit of looking in the mirror much any more and you were so used to the bruises that even if you did, it wouldn't have occurred to you that the bruises should be looking greenish by now. Not the too-purple of fresh bruising that you're used to sporting. 

Your shades get pushed back up almost immediately and you turn away from him. You really don't need the bullshit of questions and interrogations. Not when you're almost certain that Bro is out in the hallway, listening to everything you say to him. Just to be sure, keep you in your place, all those other fucking reasons that keep you exactly where you are; exactly where he wants you. Your face schools into a look of nonchalance, and you're immensely glad for your shades as you grasp for some story that could explain a black eye and split lip. Maybe you should fall back on your usual tactics and just piss him off until he stops prying. Yeah. 

“Shit, man. I know I'm sexy as hell like this, but I can't be tellin' ya all my secrets. You're just gonna have to sit back and enjoy the view. It's hard, I know. You just wanna protect me and take me away from the big bad. The problem with that is that you'd be takin' me away from all those admirers I was tellin' ya about. You know. Your competition. You couldn't do that to them. Think about all those broken hearts. Weeping because my ass became property of Vantas.” 

Okay. So maybe you went a little bit too far with that one. You can tell because his face is turning the cutest shade of pink you've ever seen on him, and you're pretty sure that it's out of frustration. You might be in the wrong here. Especially when the guy in front of you is the only one that's bothered to show up since you starting skipping on school. Sure, John pestered you a few times (not that you replied) but Karkat was the only one that showed up, so maybe you should stop being a _total_ ass to him. 

“Jesus fuckshitting Christ, Strider. You know what? Forget it. I don't care. You don't want to tell me what's going on, you can deal with it on your own. You need to come back to school, though. You're going to fail if you keep skipping. Stop being a fucking moron and get your ass back to school, or I'm going to have John and Jade come over with me next time and we won't leave til I have an answer about whatever the fuck is going on with you. If your boyfriend or someone is doing this we can sort _something_ out.” You chance a glance at the door when his volume increases before you sigh. 

“Look, man. It's fine. Really. My _boyfriend_ ” - you almost scoff at the word - “isn't doing shit to me. But I'll be there, okay? I'll be at school bright and early Monday morning and we can forget all about the entire thing. Unless of course you want to take me up on that weekend skinny-dipping getaway we had planned. I'd totally be up for that.” You waggle your eyebrows at him and can't help but snort when he groans at you. Yeah, you're the master of deflection. You're pretty sure he's forgotten all about the bruises on your face by the time he's left. Innuendos and blatant flirting are the best way to send Vantas off-course. You'd figured that out a few months back, and lets just say it's gotten you some really colourful lectures over time. But it works really well as a deflection from whatever subject he'd stuck his nails into at the time. 

When he does leave, you open your door and check the hallway for signs of your brother. With his bedroom door closed, you figure that you're safe enough for now. You don't allow yourself to hope that he wasn't keeping tabs on your conversation. There's no point in false hope. You walk Karkat to the door of your apartment and say goodbye with another promise of your attendance at school on Monday. You're sure to remind him that next time he should just invite you to the park or something. The last thing you want is for him to notice something at your place, or show up unannounced again. You still aren't sure how Bro will react to his impromptu visit. Probably not well, if you're being totally honest with yourself. 

You don't have to wait long after the door closes to find out what Bro thinks about the situation, though. You're walking back through the living room when he calls you. You turn to find him sitting on the couch, his back to you. He knows you've stopped. You tilt your head to the side slightly, but otherwise make no movement, no sound. He has your complete attention and he knows it. You've always been a fast learner. 

“So. You've been skipping out of school?” 

Your stomach drops. It's not like it had been a secret that you hadn't been to school for a couple of days, but you were pretty sure he hadn't noticed. 

“I.. wasn't feeling well.” 

He gets up and before you can even process the movement, he's behind you. You can feel his breath on your neck and you stiffen in response to his proximity. You don't dare to try and move away right now, no matter how much you can't stand having him at your back. 

“Is that right? So you figured you'd just stay home and waste all the money I've put into you going to school, huh?”

You turn to face him, but you don't reply. There's nothing you could say at this point to fix the situation, and anything that you did say would bring attention to the fact that you had a guest over and that he was catching on to something going on. You're actually pretty surprised that he hasn't mentioned that yet. It'll happen though; you're almost certain. 

Bro grasps your wrist as you turn, probably expecting you to try to run. You won't. You've tried that before and it just ends in more bruises, or blood depending on his mood. His fingers grip you tight and takes a lot of willpower to stop yourself from fighting against him. He steps toward you and you can't help but retreat. He doesn't stop his advance until you're pressed against the wall, his body caging you in. As his body presses against yours you wish that you'd run. Pulled away. _Something_. 

Not this. Not standing here, waiting for him to do whatever he wants. He's trained you for this, you realise. Trained you to stay put. Not that you always do. You're not sure which is worse. Trying to fight, losing, and having to live with the realisation that you couldn't stop him, or letting it happen and knowing that on some level you must have wanted it. 

The sudden light assaulting you pulls you out of your stupor and you look up at him. His eyes are still covered by his shades. They'll stay that way. His clothes will stay on while yours will end up thrown into a dark corner and you'll be laid bare. His thumb moves gently over the bruise on your face and you're taken aback by the movement. It's gentle. Not a word that you can normally use to describe anything that your brother does. His fingers move over the cut on your bottom lip and your mouth opens out of habit. You wait for his fingers to move, to press past your parted lips, but it doesn't happen. 

His body leaves yours and you've never been more confused in your life. You're grateful that he's gone, but at the same time, you aren't sure what to do. You stay put, unsure if you're meant to follow him or wait for him. When he takes his place back on the couch, you pick your shades off the floor and slink back to your bedroom. You're not sure if you did something wrong, or if he's just adding a new element to his game. You close your door and lock it just in case he changes his mind and comes looking for you. 

You stay up most of the night. Not that you were deliberately avoiding the vulnerability of sleep, just that every time you attempted to close your eyes, you'd hear movement and you couldn't help but think that Bro was just waiting for you to let your guard down. Not that he had to. You'd been ready to let him do whatever he wanted earlier. You almost wish he had. A punishment for wanting it, letting him do it. Having him leave you there just made you feel dirty. Unwanted and used up. Like you were so desperate for human contact that you wouldn't even fight him off. You lay in bed, tossing and turning for another hour or two after Bro finally goes to bed.

* * *

It's been a week since Karkat visited you. A week since Bro left you in the hallway with no explanation. He hasn't touched you since. Not even a strife. Your cuts are healed and your bruises are slowly diminishing. Your face is almost completely back to normal. 

You don't like it. 

Your friendships are back on track and no one has mentioned your absences. You suppose you have Karkat to thank for that. He obviously kept his promise of never talking about it again if you came to school. Speaking of school: You're actually able to pay attention and you're pretty sure you've taken more notes this week (and done more homework) than you have for the entire year previous. 

You don't like it. 

You walk on eggshells at home, unsure if you'll upset whatever truce you seem to have found yourself in. That's the problem with unannounced truces – you can never be sure of the terms. If you open the fridge too loudly, will you find yourself a new bruise? You're tired. You almost wish for things to go back to the way they were. When you knew that anything you did would end up with you needing to bathe in disinfectant. At least you knew what to expect. 

Bro watches you when you get home. Watches you as you walk around before you shut yourself in your room. It makes you uncomfortable. You're not sure what he's looking for. You still flinch if he comes close to you, and you're certain that you see him smirk every time it happens. He's getting off on it, you realise. Enjoys watching you squirm. 

You start spending more time outside the apartment. You start taking your time to do your homework at the benches, spend time with Karkat and John whenever you can after school. You're careful though. Careful not to let anything slip. Even after they leave, you stay out longer. Anything to try and avoid the emotional bullshit that he's putting you through. You want to scream it at anyone that will listen. You want to hide and never speak to another person again. 

You don't like it.

* * *

You're at John's house for a sleepover. It's been a month. Your bruises are completely gone, and if it wasn't for Bro making things uncomfortable, you could almost pretend it never happened. You're in the middle of listening to Karkat and John argue about whether you should all watch _P.S. I Love You_ or _The Wicker Man_. They turn to you as a tie breaker right as your phone dings with an incoming message. 

“Saved by the bell, guys.” They groan and go back to arguing as you pull out your phone and open up Pesterchum. 

timaeusTestified [TT] started pestering  turntechGodhead [TG]  
TT: Roof. Now.   
TG: im not even there   
TG: how did you not notice that   
TG: im stayin at johns tonight man I told you that  
TT: Dave.   
TT: Get your ass home. Now.   


You don't bother replying, or trying to argue. Bro wants to strife and you have negative two minutes to get there or he'll meet you halfway, sword in hand. You sigh and stuff your phone back in your pocket. 

“Sorry guys. I gotta split. Bro needs me for something. I'll see yas at school.” 

You collect up your things to a chorus of Karkat dramatically begging you not to leave him with John and the collection of movies he'd planned to force on you, and a mixture of John being understandingly disappointed that you have to leave, and teasing Karkat about it being his house, and therefore his movie choice. You let yourself out and make your way home, bag thrown over your shoulder. You don't bother checking your phone again. You know there won't be any more messages, just as well as he knows that you're on your way home for the strife. 

You make it home in ten minutes, which is pretty impressive actually, considering you weren't rushing. Well, no more than you normally would. You let yourself into the house and make your way in to drop your bag into your room and grab your katana. You don't make it to the bedroom. You barely make it into the kitchen before your bag is pulled from you and tossed to the ground. 

***  
Your pelvis is pressed against the bench, your hands braced against the smooth counter-top. You can feel him behind you. His body is hot against yours and you wonder for a moment what you might have done to bring this on. What did you do to break the tenuous truce that the two of you had been living with. You push back against him to get away and he groans against your neck. You shudder. Your eyes prickle with unshed tears and you tear yourself away from him as best you can. It's not much. 

He grabs you as you break free, his fingers digging into your upper arm. You try to wrench yourself from his grip and wince when his fingers drag down into the muscle. He hooks his foot behind your ankle as he pushes you backward and the air is pushed from your lungs as you hit the ground. You scramble backwards as soon as you're able to but his foot finds purchase on your hand. You hiss in pain as you pull your hand out from under his weight and cradle it against your chest. You consider moving away again but a kick lands on your side and you almost lose the popcorn you'd had at John's. 

He's on you in a second, his knees digging into your shoulders, pinning you to the ground beneath him. Hands reach for your shades and your eyes squeeze shut as he pulls them off you. His fingers roam over your face in an echo of the night in the hallway, and you think briefly that he might change his mind again. That it might be over before it starts. 

He mutters something about keeping you where you belong, as the weight lifts from your shoulders. You move away again, until he fixes you with a stare that has you freezing in place as you watch him. His fingers move to strip himself of his jeans, fingers deftly popping the button and letting them slide off. He's naked underneath them and your mouth is simultaneously so dry that you're pretty sure you could rival the sahara desert, and so wet that you might choke on your own saliva. It reminds you of the five second warning that you get when you're about to vomit. 

He comes toward you again and straddles your chest, his knees once again cushioned by your shoulders. You groan at the pain that lances through them, wishing for the numbness that you know will follow when the pressure starts to cut off the blood flow. His fingers push past your lips, forcing your mouth open as he rubs the head of his cock against your bottom lip. His weight shifts as he leans forward to direct it into your mouth, and you gasp at the renewed pain lancing your shoulders. 

“Suck it, Dave. Don't you dare fucking bite me.”

You don't need the warning, you wouldn't have bitten him. That's a punishment you never want to deal with. You don't respond at first, and he shifts again to slide more of himself into your mouth. Your eyes squeeze shut and your tentatively run your tongue over him before giving a gentle suck. He bites back a moan and fists his hand in your hair, bending your head up at an awkward angle to feed you more of his dick. His hips move as you suck him and run your tongue over the head, careful to keep your teeth away from him. 

A tear escapes and falls down your cheek after a particularly hard thrust makes you gag. His movements get faster, and your sucking practically stops as he starts fucking your mouth. You can't concentrate on sucking when you're trying to stop yourself from throwing up on his dick. Something tells you that you wouldn't like the outcome of that. He holds you down – or, up, you suppose – your nose pressed into his groin, his dick threatening to make a home in your stomach with the way it's getting all cosy in your throat. You can't breathe, your throat feels like sandpaper and your spit is leaking down onto his balls. You look up at him, trying to silently beg him to stop. Or, maybe you're just hoping this will be like all the fanfiction you've read and one look at your eyes will be his undoing and it'll be over. 

Unfortunately, that doesn't happen. The sight of your eyes doesn't have Bro blowing his load and letting you scamper off. He does pull away though, his cock slides out of your mouth and you gasp in breaths, trying not to gag at the remembered feeling of him being too far down your throat. His knees move and you're no longer pinned to the ground by the full weight of your brother. Any weight, really. You follow his movements with your eyes, wishing you could still feel your arms so that you could hoist yourself up smoothly enough to escape. You don't even attempt it. With the lack of feeling, you'll be sluggish and he'll be pissed. He moves down your body, peeling your jeans from you as he does. 

You're naked from the waist down when he rolls you onto your stomach and positions you so that you're supporting your own weight with your dead arms. You can feel the pain in your shoulders and you wobble. A nudge between your legs to force them further apart knocks you off balance and you stumble forward, caught only by Bro's hand on your already bruising shoulder. You can imagine the smirk on his face as you whimper at the action, and you know it's there when his fingers dig into the skin. He holds you steady as his legs adjust yours again to fit his body between them. 

Your eyes widen when you feel him nudge at your entrance. He hasn't prepped you or used lube and you jerk away from him, forcing your shoulder further into his grip as he pulls you back against him. Your spit on his dick as practically dried now, not that spit is ever really a substitute for lubricant, and you feel him start to breach you. Your eyes squeeze shut and you clench your jaw, trying to cut off the scream that bubbles up your throat as he pushes his way inside you. You sob out a harsh sound as he continues to seat himself inside you. 

He doesn't wait for you to adjust, and you're not entirely sure how you feel about it. No, fuck that. You know exactly how you feel about it. Your body is rigid and your tight around his dick. Every movement he makes drags him against sensitive _burning_ skin, and you can't help but cry. You do try to keep quiet, but every time he slams into you, his fingers dig into your shoulder and hip and pull you against him. Your tears fall freely, and you can feel something dripping down your thighs. You're almost grateful for it as it starts to ease the friction from his thrusting. 

You bite your lip and tuck your head down, your chin resting against your chest. You don't even notice as the feeling comes back completely in your arms, your mind too focussed on trying to survive Bro's brutal treatment of you. His thrusting gets harder and his nails feel like claws against your skin. The hand on your shoulder moves down your chest and you shudder again. You know what he's doing. His hand finds your cock and he grunts in approval. You're hard under his fingers, and the fact that he squeezes a little too hard doesn't change the fact that it feels good when he drags his hand along your length. 

Your tears start anew as he jerks you off. You wish you could stop yourself, that you didn't feel good when he does this to you. It's always the same. Once the initial pain wears off, your body bounces right back. You try to hold off your orgasm, but with him continuing his thrusts, it gets more and more difficult to hold back. Your fingers claw at the ground and your toes curl, but when he shifts his angle, you lose yourself. Your back arches and you come with a cry that matches your anguish. 

Bro's hand milks you while he thrusts deeper, leaning forward to bite the cords of your neck as your body tightens around him. You're over-sensitive, feeling every pulse of his dick as he releases inside you. You grimace as he pulls out and you feel it trickle down your leg, following the trail left by the fluid before it. His hand lands hard on your ass as he redresses and leaves you on the floor. You're glad for that, though. 

***

You stand slowly, your legs shaking and a lance of pain shooting up your spine with every step toward the bathroom. You wince as you turn on the light and shrug off your shirt. It's brighter in here, and your shades are somewhere in the kitchen. Not that you're willing or able to go back out there to retrieve them. You fumble with the taps and get in without checking the temperature. Not that it makes much of a difference, really. The cold water tap is turned so low that it might as well be off, and you find yourself standing under almost scalding water. 

You're glad. 

You watch the traces of him wash down the drain, mixing with your blood as it disappears. You wish all the traces of him and his actions could be washed away so easily. A little hot water doesn't wash away the disgust you feel with yourself for getting off on it. For wanting it over the month that you were free. Bro's back to normal, you think. Back to knowing that the only thing that stops you from becoming his punching bag is his mood. 

You're glad. 

You stand under the spray for longer than you should. The water going cold is the only thing that spurs you into action. You shut it off and reach for your towel, drying yourself off. You allow yourself to look in the mirror this time. Your shoulders are a deep red and you know they'll be purple tomorrow. You twist carefully to find the bite mark on the back of your neck. It's in the crook of your neck, perfectly hidden with a well placed t-shirt. There isn't a mark on your face. 

_You're glad_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath, things are back to normal, and dave is isolating himself.

Sunlight pushes its way through your window, assaulting sensitive eyes through closed lids. Your arm stretches out toward your bedside table to grasp for your shades. Dull pain throbs its way down your arm, not enough to stop you on your search for shades. When your hands come back empty, you groan and force yourself to sit up. Pain shoots up your spine at the action and all you can do is clench your jaw to stop the yelp of pain from escaping. You glance around your room, wishing that you'd had the presence of mind last night to collect your belongings and bring them back to your room. Your pants, with your cell still in the pocket, shades, and bag are all still in the kitchen. You can only hope that Bro is in a better mood this morning and isn't pissed that you didn't tidy your shit before you crawled back to your room.

Your body aches as you climb out of bed, muscles that you didn't even know you had protest the movements and you just want to crawl back between the blankets and sleep for the rest of your life. You struggle to get dressed (loose shirt and sweatpants because there is no way you're going out there in just your boxers), your arms feel like dead weight and you can see the deep blue edges of bruising. Your legs twinge from overuse, your insides clenching with pain every time you make a movement. Thank fuck for sweatpants. Jeans are your worst enemy right now.

You silence yourself as you stand at your bedroom door, holding your breath to listen for Bro's presence in the apartment. Your door creaks open when you deem it safe enough to leave your room. You limp as quickly as you can toward the kitchen. As quickly as you can actually happens to be pretty fucking slow. Limping, it turns out, is really hard to do when you're trying to avoid putting pressure on both legs, and you're not sure if the hobbling around is causing more or less pain than normal walking would. You're too frightened to test the theory. Every step you take pulls as your insides, your abused flesh burns with the pressure and stretching that it causes. Your eyes sting with tears that you refuse to let fall while you choke back a scream born of both pain and frustration.

You don't run into Bro on your way to the kitchen, and you almost sag in relief when you see all your things where you left them. On the floor: Where they were discarded. You can't bring yourself to be upset about the reminder of what happened. Your jeans are the first thing to be picked up and you transfer your cell into the pocket of your sweats. You grab your bag as your eyes flick around the room for a glance of your shades. Your stomach drops when you see them.

They aren't damaged, nor were they flung across the room like you thought they might have been. Or, maybe there were. Now, though, they're folded like they're precious; looked after and placed gently on the floor. Placed strategically, one foot away from the dried splattering of your orgasm. Your hands shake as you step toward them and bend to pick them up.

You're pretty sure why he did it. He wanted you to notice it; to remember that you enjoyed it just as much as he did. You can't deny it when the evidence is staring you in the face. You place your shades back on your face and stumble back to your room, dropping your things behind the door as it closes.

The apartment is still silent as you bury yourself in your blankets and pull your phone from your pocket. You'd assume that Bro is asleep, except for the positioning of your shades, so you're left to assume that he's gone out. For what, you can't even begin to guess.

Pesterchum doesn't make any 'new message' noises when you open the app, and if it weren't for the lit up icons that alert you to unread conversations, you might have closed it again. There are three. John, Karkat, and your bro. You opt for replying to them in that order, wanting to avoid contact with Bro for as long as possible.

ectoBiologist [EB]  started pestering  turntechGodhead [TG]   
EB: hey dave!   
EB: daaaaave!!!   
EB: ok, you're probably busy doing all that ironic stuff and being cool, right?   
TG: hey man whats up   
TG: can you guys really not live without me for one night   
TG: what did you need me to settle another argument about which is the shittier movie or have you guys fought to the death about it because honestly thatd be pretty impressive what with the two of you messaging me   
EB: haha dave. very funny. we were perfectly fine without you, just so you know. we wanted to hang out with you today though.   
EB: unless you're busy, man. 

You don't bother giving him an answer right away. There's no way you'll be going anywhere today, not without a pretty obvious fucking limp, and that's a conversation you really want to avoid. You switch over to the conversation with Shoutty McYell, ignoring the gnawing feeling you get every time you see Bro's unanswered chat.

carcinoGeneticist [CG]  started pestering  turntechGodhead [TG]   
CG: STRIDER   
CG: I KNOW YOU'RE THERE, CUNTWAFFLE   
CG: DAVE IF YOU WEREN'T THERE YOU'D BE AN IDLE CHUM.   
CG: FINE, IDIOT. DON'T ANSWER ME. I TOLD HIM THAT YOU WOULDN'T WANT TO HANG OUT TODAY, ANYWAY.   
turntechGodhead [TG] is now an idle chum   
CG: OH, REAL FUCKING MATURE, DAVE   
turntechGodhead [TG] started pestering  carcinoGeneticist [CG]   
TG: woah man calm down   
TG: i know how hard it is to go without sleepin beside me for a whole night  
TG: especially when you were expectin me there to keep you warm  
TG: but you know how it is man i cant keep the fans waitin  
TG: people needed me karks and you know im a sucker for helpin the needy cant let em suffer alone when all they really want is a piece of me   
TG: what kind of god fearing christian would i be if i did that karkat id never be able to show my face in church again   
CG: OH LOOK.   
CG: THE PRODIGAL SON RETURNS TO GRACE US WITH HIS PRESENCE. WAIT WHILE I BOW BEFORE YOU AND PREPARE MYSELF FOR WHATEVER DRIVEL YOU'RE ABOUT TO SPEW AT ME.   
CG: YOU KNOW AS WELL AS I DO THAT YOU'VE NEVER SET FOOT IN A CHURCH IN YOUR LIFE. I'M PRETTY SURE YOU'D SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST IF YOU SO MUCH AS TOUCHED FOOT ON CONSECRATED GROUNDS.  
CG: THAT'S NOT EVEN THE POINT. WHAT THE FUCK WAS UP WITH YOU DITCHING US THEN IGNORING ME?  
TG: well shit karkat  
TG: i didnt think you cared that much about me  
TG: dont worry tho babe youre still my number one girl  
TG: just left my phone in the kitchen overnight mustve forgotten to close pesterchum before I dragged my ass to bed  
TG: sorry man didnt mean to make you worry about little old me  
CG: WHATEVER, DOUCHEMUFFIN. ARE YOU COMING AROUND TO SAVE ME FROM MORE NICHOLAS CAGE THEMED TORTURE, OR NOT?  
TG: i dont think ill be able to hang out today tho  
TG: too much shit to do yknow  


You close the chat, knowing that it won’t be the end of the conversation. Your finger hovers over Bro’s chat icon. It’s like ripping off a band-aid, right? The faster you do it, the faster the sting stops and you can go back to normal. You press the icon and yesterday’s conversation glows on the screen. Your eyes flit down to the newest message. 

TT: When you get up, you can go clean up your fucking mess from last night.  


You know exactly what he’s talking about. The splattered evidence of your enjoyment. You can feel bile trying to make its way up your throat at the thought of it. You swallow. Your mouth tastes like hell, and your shame is like a film that covers your entire being. You know that if you don’t get up and clean it before he gets home, you’ll be in for it again. At least this time you’re expecting the pain that shoots up your spine, like a knife being twisted at the base, and manage to grit your teeth against the groan that threatens. 

It doesn’t take nearly as long to make your way to the kitchen this time, now that you don’t have to keep an eye out for evidence of Bro skulking around, waiting for you to trip up. 

The day passed pretty quickly after you cleaned the kitchen. Bro came home late last night, and John was his usual, easy going self when he found out you couldn’t hang for the day. Karkat had been another matter entirely. He’d spent about 15 minutes type-yelling at you about leaving hi m to his downfall, then wanted to know what you were doing that was so much more important than hanging out with your friends. You vaguely wondered when he’d started categorising you as his friend, wondering when he’d decided that you weren’t just an intolerable asshole that wasn’t worth his time. 

Bro has left you alone since he got home, which is a good thing if he wants you to go to school tomorrow. If the past has taught you anything, it’s that he wants you at school and away from him. Just not so far that you might be happy. You still have a slight limp, but it’s nothing you can’t hide, and unless you take your shirt off, no one will ever know about the bruises littering your skin. It’s better that way. You won’t have to lie about how you got them, or worry that someone might know what you’re hiding. 

You’ve been ignoring your pesterchum, watching the chat notifications become less insistent the longer you leave it. You can hear movements in the apartment and freeze, like you have been all day, paranoid that he’ll force you out of the safety of your room. It’s probably not as safe as you think it is, locks have never been a big deal to Bro, but it’s your refuge from him. 

You barely sleep at all that night, only nodding off early in the morning, after you’re sure he’s asleep. Your eyes open, bleary and sore, to the sound of the incessant beeping of your alarm clock. You turn it off quickly, not wanting to wake Bro. The last thing you need is to piss him off before school. You sigh. You’re not sure if you’re relieved about the end of the unstable truce, or terrified about what might happen. 

You grab your things and head out the door, putting your ipod up as loud as you can while you walk to school. Sure, you’re probably going to be early as hell, but it’s better than being late and having Karkat freak and show up at your place again to tell Bro all about it. Your bag pulls against your shoulders and you wince, deciding to just carry it. You’d think you’d be used to the pain in your shoulders by now, but you’ve really just spent the weekend huddled in your room, so you haven’t really had much time to get accustomed to it. The school is empty when you get there, so you sit at your bench and rest your face against your arms, glad to have a little reprieve from the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about the huge wait between updates. I dont have a great excuse other than I was lazy. But to make up for it, I'm writing another chapter as we speak, with even more non-con smut. You still love me, right?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More non-con smut. Again, I've put in some asterix's for those of you that don't want to have it shoved in your faces. Just to let you know, it is explicit, but it's less violent and more dubious. Don't get me wrong, its still non-con, dave's just confused.

Something touches your shoulder and you jolt awake, shaking the hand off you and wincing as the sharp pain it causes. Your eyes quickly scan your surroundings, your body stiff and on high alert. Karkat’s scowling back at you and you let yourself relax just a little.

“Jesus, twatsicle, I barely touched you. Just figured I should tell you that you’re gonna be late if you don’t get to class in about 5 minutes, but you know, fuck me for trying to make you go to class.”

Your lips twitch into a half-hearted smirk, even as his scowl falters and you see signs of concern beneath his angry façade. That’s one thing you can always count on Karkat for. Even when he’s worried about you, you can always trust him to be a dick to you. You grab your bag and stretch gingerly, careful not to give anything away. 

“Sorry man. I was up all night with all those bitches you keep asking me about. They were all like ‘we’re so much better than Karkat’, so I had to put ‘em in their place, y’know. Told ‘em straight out, ‘Karkat’s my best girl’. Don’t worry babe, I got you.” You throw your arm over his shoulders, glad that he’s shorter than you when there’s no twinge of pain. 

He rolls his eyes at you and squirms out of your reach. “Whatever, Strider. Just get to fucking class before they call your Bro and tell him you haven’t showed. You know they’ve been cracking down on truants lately.” He shakes his head, and you can’t decide if that was disgust or a smile on his face. Then, what he said actually kicks in. 

Shit. Karkat’s right, of course. A few weeks ago, they released a notice (that you hadn’t passed on to Bro because you guys were in a weird place, and you didn’t want to set him off) about sending out text messages to parents if their child missed roll-call. You take a few long stops to catch up to him, and walk beside him in silence. Mostly because the only real thing that you have to say to him right now is an apology for taking off over the weekend. And if you do that, he’ll want an explanation, which you really can’t give him. Not bringing it up, you’ve discovered, is usually the best option when it comes to Karkat. Otherwise he’s like a dog with a bone. 

You break away from his side when you enter the classroom, taking your seat while Karkat heads to his at the back of the classroom. You can feel his eyes on the back of your head, and you nervously adjust your shirt. You’re pretty sure the bite mark has faded by now, but on the off chance that you’re wrong, you don’t want him to see anything that would make him ask questions. At least a bite mark is an easy thing to explain away, and he’s already given you the convenient boyfriend excuse. Rough sex is pretty common. You force your hand back down and quit rubbing at the spot on your neck. You’re pretty sure he’s still looking at you, and you’re starting to fidget, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. 

You pull out your phone and open pesterchum, intent on making him stop. 

turntechGodhead [TG] started pestering  carcinoGeneticist [CG]   
TG: dude   
TG: dude stop  
TG: i know im gorgeous but seriously  
TG: you can check me out as much as you want at lunch  
CG: OH MY FUCKING GOD, STRIDER.  
CG: I WAS NOT CHECKING YOU OUT.  
TG: whatever man   
TG: im not the one mentally stripping me  
TG: tell me  
TG: do i wear tighty-whities or boxers in your dreams  
CG: OH MY GOD. I AM NOT HAVING THIS CONVERSATION WITH YOU. STOP BEING A COCK MUFFIN AND PAY ATTENTION TO THE FUCKING TEACHER. I’M NOT GOING TO HOLD YOUR HAND THROUGH THE FUCKING EXAMS WHEN YOU FREAK OUT BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT’S GOING ON.   
CG: WHAT WAS THE POINT OF EVEN COMING TO CLASS IF YOU’RE JUST GOING TO PLAY ON YOUR PHONE ALL DAY?  
TG: so what youre saying is that youll hold my hand if I pay attention  
TG: look at all the attention im paying karkat  
TG: im paying all the attention  
TG: anyway  
TG: youre the one checking me out in class  
TG: keeping me distracted from the wonderful math that were learning all about  
TG: how am i supposed to learn about triangles if you keep undressing me with your mind  
CG: JESUS CHRIST, STRIDER. I AM NOT CHECKING YOU OUT.   
CG: AND THIS ISN’T EVEN MATHS, YOU FUCKING MORON. IT’S HISTORY. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU EVEN DOING DOWN THERE?  
TG: see  
TG: youve distracted me so much I don’t even know what class were in  
TG: my education is important vantas  
TG: i need to pay attention if i wanna be a strong independent woman  
TG: cant go relying on you to support us with your income  
carcinoGeneticist [CG]  ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]  


You chuckle and slide your phone back into your pocket. At least you can’t feel his gaze on you anymore. The teacher narrows her gaze on you at the sound and you shrug, picking up your pen and pretending to take notes. Who needs history, anyway? Class drags on for longer than it should, and you shift in your seat impatiently. You’ve never been great at sitting in a classroom, at least when it’s not one that holds your interest. You sneak a glance over your shoulder at Karkat. He’s bent over his desk, taking notes. Fucking nerd. He must have noticed you, or he’s a mind reader that totally heard you call him a nerd – but since that’s not likely, you’re pretty sure he just felt you watching him. He looks up at you and glares, shifting his gaze from you to the front of the room. Turning back, you slouch back in your seat, adjusting your shades back up your nose, waiting for the bell to signal lunch. 

Classes continue to take their time, irritating you, even though you know you’d rather be here than at home. You don’t know what’s up. You don’t want to go home, but you can’t stand being surrounded by people, not knowing what they’re doing or planning. You make your way to the benches and pull out your homework. Karkat sits with you for a while, silently, just fucking around on his phone. You watch him from the corner of your eye, sneaking glances at his phone when he’s not paying attention. He’s talking to John, and you can’t help but feel a little let down. You close your book and sigh, shoving it back into your bag. You can’t focus. 

Karkat switches off his phone and looks at you, raising his eyebrow in silent question. You shrug. You’re itching to get out of here, and back into the confines of your room. You feel vulnerable out here in the open, like everyone can see what you are. You shake yourself off, and look back at Karkat. You don’t even get a chance to speak before his phone beeps, telling him that his ride’s here. It’s earlier than usual, and you’re grateful. You don’t really want to talk about why you flaked on him and John at the sleepover, or why you didn’t hang out the next day. You know you’re going to have to deal with it eventually, but while ever he’s ignoring it, you figure that you can too. He mumbles goodbye as he walks away, and you can’t help but read the annoyance in his tone. You can’t really blame him, you’ve been deflecting for a long time; ignoring him when you don’t feel like talking, which is more often than you’d really like to admit. 

You shift in your seat as you watch him leave. Your fingers twitch against the table, and you feel the need to call him back, contradicting your previous need to be alone. You sit for as long as you can stand it after he leaves, which is apparently not long. The silence eats away at you, and you jump at every rustle of the trees. You turn on your iPod with the intention of getting lost in the music, but all you can hear is noise. The beat is lost on you, and you walk home in silence. Bro would be disappointed. Hell, you’re disappointed in yourself. You’ve only got the sickest beats on your iPod, and you couldn’t even appreciate them. 

No one is home when you let yourself back into the apartment, not that you’re stupid enough to call out and check. You can just tell. Bro has left a carton of Chinese out for you, so he must have a gig. You snatch it up and stow it in your room before you lock yourself in the bathroom. You take your time in the shower, letting the water beat a senseless rhythm against your skin, soothing you. Your shower ends too quickly, in your opinion, when the water becomes too cold to stand under. Your clothes are gathered up and you wrap yourself in a towel before you head to your room, and it’s not long before you’ve dressed in a pair of boxers, and have settled on the bed with your food and homework. 

The words swim on the page, and you rub your eyes. A quick look at your phone tells you that it’s only 10pm. Bro isn’t due home for hours, so you figure a little sleep can’t hurt. You haven’t slept properly for days, and you don’t think you can cope like that for much longer. You don’t fight the urge to close your eyes, grimacing when your eyes burn and itch. You roll onto your stomach, not caring when you hear something hit the floor. 

A sharp pain wakes you, and you jerk away from the source. Your head feels heavy, your thoughts slow and disjointed. Insistent fingers dig into your hips and tug you backwards. A hand presses against the base of your neck, pushing your face down. You try to shake free, but you’re sluggish. Your face is pushed into the pillow and the situation cements itself in your mind. 

***

You struggle again, more forcefully, trying to buck him off. His fingers dig further into your hips, holding you in place while his other hand leaves your back. You lift your head and take a ragged breath as his hand connects with your bare ass. You whimper. He’s holding you against him, you can feel the denim of his jeans rub against the now sensitive skin of your ass. His hand moves to his belt, you can hear him fumbling with it. He rolls you onto your back, shoving the pillows from beneath your head. 

You watch him as he pops the button of his jeans, kneeling between your legs. You swallow down the bile that’s forcing its way up your throat. His jeans slide down his legs, enough for him to pull himself out and rub against your thigh. You can’t stop yourself. You twist away, scooting away from him on your bed. His hand connects with your cheek, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to make you freeze. A warning that you’d be stupid to ignore. His hand closes around your ankle and pulls you toward him. You don’t fight him, not that you could. His dick rubs against your thigh again and you shudder. You just hope it was in revulsion, and not in anticipation. 

He pulls a tube from the pocket of his jeans, and you can’t help the wave of relief and gratitude that causes your tense muscles to relax slightly. He praises you for relaxing, and your reactions are at war with themselves. You’re not sure how you should feel about it. You want to be disgusted by the idea that you’ve pleased him, but you can’t. You’re relieved. 

His hands move over you, gently, learning your body. You’re hard when he reaches your dick, and you see him smirk. You close your eyes. It’s not supposed to be like this, it’s supposed to be rough and hard; It’s supposed to hurt. A slippery finger presses against you and you jerk away, your eyes shooting open in shock. He laughs, and you’re struck with how natural he seems right now – treating you like a lover, enjoying you, rather than punishing. He holds you still and his finger presses against you again, breeching you. He pushes inside, moving and stretching before he quickly adds another finger to the first. 

He stretches you too quickly, and you can feel the burn in your ass when he presses his dick against you. Your breath hitches in your throat as he pushes inside of you, your groan muffled by the lips pressed against yours. His teeth nip at your lip and you gasp. He pulls his mouth from yours and seats himself inside you, pausing. He stills himself completely, his hands holding you tight against him. You relax as you start to adjust, your dick aching from the lack of activity. 

You squirm against him, searching for the friction that he’s denying you. He smirks and begins moving again, his fingers digging into your sides, nails scratching against your hips. Your hands fist the sheet on your bed and you close your eyes again, refusing to look at your bro. He doesn’t care, or he hasn’t noticed, because his movements pick up their pace. It takes all your self-control to stop yourself from moaning when his angle changes. You’re sure that your fingers are turning white with the pressure that you’re gripping the sheets. 

Your hand reaches between you, and you drag it over the length of your dick. A moan escapes your lips, and Bro slows, watching you. One of his hands lets go of your hip, finding purchase at your throat. Your eyes widen in alarm as his grip tightens. He presses against you, pushing you into the bed as he thrusts into you. You struggle to take a breath. He moves harder, faster, and your free hand tugs at the hand that’s at your throat. You let out a strangled moan as you come, exploding in ropes over your stomach as he stills, buried deep inside you. You can feel your muscles pulling him deeper as he empties himself inside you. His lips find yours again, his tongue slipping into your mouth to taste you. His hand leaves your throat, his breathing as ragged as yours. He collapses on top of you, forcing you to squirm out from under him, before he pulls you against his side. 

***

His hand is draped over your middle, holding you against him. You move, squirm further away from him, but he stops you, pulling you back to him again. His breathing evens out, and you’re not sure if he’s asleep or awake. You stare at your desk, a tear leaking from the corner of your eye. You’re confused, angry, hurt. You want to scream, but you’re not sure if it’s from shame or pleasure. You shouldn’t have liked it, shouldn’t have wanted it. His face nuzzles against the back of your neck, and you close your eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat is a fucking nerd and Dave doesn't know how to relate to people

Your alarm beeps beside your head and you groan, pulling the covers up as you blindly grope on your bedside table to shut it off. Your phone clatters to the ground, vibrating and beeping loudly against the floor. You contemplate leaving it there, tempted to just drop your blanket over it to muffle the sound. You roll, your vision blurred with sleep, and grab your phone. Silence engulfs the room, and you tell yourself that you expected it. You’d woken up when you felt Bro leave. He’d almost pushed you out of bed in his rush to leave, and you tell yourself again that you don’t care. You’re glad he’s not there to rub against you again, or bitch at you about your alarm. You scan your room, wasting time before you have to get ready, looking for the evidence of last night. Your book is still laying on the floor where it fell off your bed, the empty food container and chopsticks are scattered across the room. The boxers you were wearing have been tossed onto your desk, and you get up to grab them. Your muscles pull and stretch as you stand, and you step gingerly, preparing yourself for the lance of pain that doesn’t come, replaced slight tenderness that borders on being pleasant. You throw your boxers back on, refusing to think about what happened last night, and the way you feel. 

You dress quickly, covering yourself as much as you can. Since you’ve taken to wearing long sleeved shirts, it’s actually pretty easy to do. Your things get shoved haphazardly into your bag on your way out the door in an attempt to avoid running into Bro. You don’t actually know how you’re going to face him now. You feel dirty, used. Worse, because you wanted it. You jerked yourself, moved with him; took everything he gave and fucking liked it. And the worst part? He knows it. He felt you as surely as you felt him. 

The door slams shut behind you and you curse under your breath, hoping that he didn’t hear it. You take off down the stairs, your music blaring in your ears to drown out your own thoughts. Not that it’s helping. Your body reacts to every step you take, remembering what it felt like to have him inside you. The scene replays itself in your mind, making you want to scrub yourself rid of any trace of him, even while heat pools in your stomach, and butterflies start their rampage at the memory. You grimace. Maybe you should have taken the time to have another shower this morning. You feel branded, like everyone can tell that you belong to him just by looking at you. His scent lingers on you, invading your senses as you get closer to the school. 

You let your head fall against the closed door of your locker, harder than necessary, and you groan. You lose yourself in your music, allowing your body to relax against the cool metal of the lockers. Your bag is still on your back, and you haven’t moved an inch since you since you arrived. You should probably move soon, before some smart ass decides to stick something to your back. You groan again and start to push yourself away from the wall of lockers when your music stops, replaced by the dull roar of students talking over each other. You start, your gaze immediately searching for the cause of your missing earphone. You don’t have to look far, just down. 

“Right, look here, you bloated fucking cockthistle. I’m so sorry that you feel the need to hold every other fucker up because you felt like taking a nap, or some shit, but some of us need to get into our goddamned lockers at some point this week. How about you stop being an idle-minded shit candle, and get the fuck off my locker?”

He elbows you out of the way, pushing you to the side as he continues fuming, and you wonder how long he’d been standing there waiting for you. You don’t say a word in response, you’re not sure you even can, as you open your locker and put your stuff away. By the time you’ve closed your locker, Karkat is nowhere in sight, walked away without another word. You sigh, deflated yet relieved, heading to your first class. You don’t message him today. Something’s up, but you can’t bring yourself to care right now, you wouldn’t even know where to start. Your fingers hover over the pesterchum icon a few times over the course of the day, but you don’t let yourself click the button. What would you even say to him? ‘Oh, hey. Sorry I’ve been distant. My brother’s been getting my rocks off, so I haven’t really had time for you.’? 

You drop the phone back into your pocket. 

You sit alone at lunch, scrolling through tumblr. No one bothers you, and you tell yourself that you’re glad about that; You don’t have to put up a mask, act like nothing bothers you. That’s a good thing, right? The day finishes as it started, with you daydreaming at the back of the classroom while the teacher stands at the front, droning on about a subject that you don’t care about. Karkat is at the bench when you leave the building, and you keep walking. The look on his face tells you that you’re not welcome right now, and you wonder what you did to piss him off. Sure, you’ve been cutting him out lately, but he’s not usually this pissy about it. 

You walk home slowly, the music from your iPod doing nothing more than drowning out the noises of the street as you make your way down the path. The sounds don’t reach you, you haven’t found solace in your music in a while. The door clicks quietly behind you as you enter your apartment, and you flick your eyes carefully around the room. Silence answers your unspoken question, though you know not to take the lack of noise as confirmation that Bro is out. You continue scanning the room for clues as to Bro’s whereabouts, your gaze freezing on the wallet sitting on the kitchen counter. It’s black and non-descript, and you’re pretty sure it doesn’t belong to Bro. Your hand is on the doorhandle behind your back before your brain even comprehends the fact that he has friends over. You’re on the staircase before you hear the door shut behind you. There is no way in hell you’re locking yourself in your room while he has friends over. Sure, he’s not likely to try anything when there’s witnesses, that much is clear by the careful placement of your bruises, but you’re not stupid enough to stick around and find out. 

You only allow yourself to relax as you reach the edge of the park, though you still glance over your shoulder to be sure that you weren’t followed. Subconsciously, you know that he’d give no clue that he’d followed you, but you can’t help the way your shoulders droop in relief when you don’t see him. Your bag falls from your shoulder at the frame of the swings, and you take a seat in the closest one. You don’t swing, content to just lean your face against the chain while your feet anchor you to the ground. The frames of your shades press against the side of your face, and you take comfort in the familiarity of the bite of metal against your skin. It’s funny, you think, how you take refuge in the pain and discomfort of your own actions. 

Your phone chimes from your pocket and you start, your chest tightens as you retrieve your phone, and you have the strangest urge to throw your phone as far as you can and run in the opposite direction. You don’t, of course. Bro would kill you if he had to replace your phone. You open Pesterchum and click on Karkat’s icon. The tension in your body drops minutely as you open the chat, only vaguely relieved that it’s not Bro ordering you home. 

carcinoGeneticist [CG]  started pestering  turntechGodhead [TG]   
CG: SO, WANNA TELL ME WHAT CRAWLED UP YOUR ASS THIS MORNING?   
CG: YOU DIDN’T SAY A WORD TO ME ALL DAY, AND COMPLETELY IGNORED ME THIS AFTERNOON AT THE BENCHES. AND BEFORE YOU EVEN THINK IT – NO, I AM NOT FRETTING OVER YOUR LACK OF ATTENTION, NOR AM I OBSESSED WITH YOU. IT’S JUST THAT LAST TIME YOU WENT INCOMMUNICADO, YOU LOCKED YOURSELF IN YOUR ROOM FOR A WEEK.   
TG: i think thou dost protest too much babe   
TG: nothing crawled up my ass but i mean if youre offering i wouldnt knock you back   
CG: YOU ARE FUCKING INFURIATING. ONLY YOU WOULD TURN SOMEONE CHECKING ON YOU INTO FLAGRANT COME-ONS AND FLIRTING. I DON’T KNOW WHY I FUCKING BOTHER TRYING TO TALK TO YOU SERIOUSLY. DO YOU EVEN HAVE THE ABILITY TO HAVE A SERIOUS CONVERSATION?   
TG: look man im sorry i just had a long weekend   
TG: bro had me moving shit around and im tired   
TG: feel free to come snuggle me and make it all better though karkles you know I love it when you play nursemaid   


You read over the conversation again and almost wince. It feels weak to you; your usual snark and attitude isn’t in your words and you’ve fallen back on your old jabs instead of thinking up something new. Karkat is bound to pick up on it. He may be gullible and quick to anger, but he’s actually pretty observant. Your eyes flick down to the new message before you have the chance to think better of it. 

CG: HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU NOT TO FORCE THOSE GODFORSAKEN NAMES ON ME? I HAVE A FUCKING NAME AND YOU’D DO WELL TO REMEMBER IT, COCKWHIFF. I’M COMING OVER, AND YOU’RE GOING TO TELL ME WHAT’S UP. I’M NOT AFRAID OF RECRUITING JOHN’S HELP.   
TG: oh no please not john anything but that why would you threaten me like that karkles I thought you loved me   
TG: seriously though im not at home so you probably shouldnt rock up there bro has friends over so i thought id hang at the park for a while   
TG: give them some space yknow   
TG: trust me you dont wanna be there when bros getting laid   
CG: THE PARK NEAR YOUR PLACE? I’M ON MY WAY. FOR THE LOVE OF FUCK, DON’T LEAVE.   


You can practically hear the sigh in his voice as you read the last message, and you feel the same tightening in your chest when you register that he’s coming to the park. The urge is back, except this time it’s telling you to leave before he can find you; before he sees through your defences and knows what you are. You’re almost tempted to let him see. Fuck hiding; let him see you, let him reject you so that you don’t have to live in fear that you’ll lose everyone around you. The tightness in your chest returns, and you toss that idea into the dark recesses of your mind where it belongs. You won’t come clean, won’t risk losing him. 

It’s not long before you see him enter the park. He spots you immediately and makes his way to your side, taking the only other swing available – lucky for him, the council realised a month ago that the baby swing would never be used, and replaced it with a replica to the one you’re sitting in. You hear the creak of the swing and turn to face him, letting silence engulf the two of you before either of you works up the courage to break it. Karkat cracks first, turning to glare at you. 

“Did we do something to piss you off or something? You left in the middle of John’s sleepover, ignored us, and refused to hang out for the rest of the weekend, then didn’t even look at me twice at school. What the fuck, Dave?” Even if his eyes hadn’t flashed with hurt, you can tell he’s serious by the way that he used your name. You weren’t even sure that he knew what it was. You won’t antagonise him, you decide, he’d probably punch you if you did. 

“I told you, man. Bro pestered me and said to get my ass home. Needed me to help him move some shit around. I was so wrecked that I almost didn’t make it out of bed this morning, yknow? I didn’t mean to get your panties in a twist or anything, I was just hella busy.” He eyes you suspiciously, as though he’s trying to force the truth out of you. You learned from the best, though: Always colour your lies with enough truth that they can’t refute them completely. Besides, it’s not really a lie. He did call you home, and you really were too wrecked to message them or hang out afterwards. Today, you were just hiding behind the routine of school, easily excused as exhaustion. 

“That’s bullshit and you fucking know it, Dave. Stop copping out and tell me the fucking truth. Yeah, your bro called you home to do god knows what, but that’s never stopped you from talking to us before. What the fuck is going on with you? It’s not just last weekend, it’s everything. The last few weeks, or months even, you’ve been dodging us.” Yeah, okay, you totally saw that coming. It’s not that he doesn’t believe that you were probably tired, just that you’d let that stop you from talking to him and John. You watch him, he’s never been great at hiding his emotions, and today is no different. Hurt and anger flicker across his face in that order, and you let the guilt of lying to your friends settle in your gut. How do you even begin to explain? You grasp onto his convenient excuse, twisting as much truth into it as you can. 

“We had a fight, okay? My boyfriend and I. I didn’t really feel like coming back to hang with you guys over the weekend after that. Are you happy now? He was a prick to me and I couldn’t face you afterwards.” As far as arguments go, this one is pretty much on the money, even if it does make you feel like you’re going to be sick at the thought of calling Bro your boyfriend. Karkat’s face turns sympathetic at your outburst, which you figure means that he’s bought it – not that there was much to buy, other than the identity of the person you fought with. 

“Those bruises I saw..?” He leaves the question open, waiting for you to confirm his suspicions. What the hell, you might as well. It’s a convenient excuse and it has the bonus of stopping him from prying and making him feel like you’re being open with him. You nod, hoping he’ll leave it at that. Naturally, you’re disappointed because, let’s face it, this is Karkat Vantas and there’s no way in hell that he’ll just drop the subject. At some point, he’s left his swing in favour of standing in front of you, almost pacing, and you know he’s about to start a tirade. “You’ve left him though, right? I mean, you can’t let the spineless bastard treat you that way-”

You cut him off before he can start his rant. You’d never get a word in if you let him get started. “Of course I did. Why the hell would I let it continue? I’m not some battered wife that keeps going back to her abuser. I’m not lying to myself and hoping he hit me because he loved me. I’m fine, Karkles, I promise. My sweet ass is free and clear, don’t worry. Your competition is out of the picture and you’re safe to play saviour and sweep in.” You bat your eyelids at him, hoping that it’ll piss him off enough to fluster him.

You watch him grind his teeth at your response, clearly fighting with himself about how to respond to you. It’s pretty amusing, and now that the focus is off your situation, you can’t help but smirk at the sight. His eyes flick to your lips and he steps toward you, pressing his lips against yours. Actually, ‘pressing’ might be too light a word. His lips are crushed against yours so hard that you can feel the outline of your own teeth. His lips ease back a little when he realises that you’re not pushing him away, though whether that’s from shock, or because you’ve learned not to fight, you don’t know. You refuse to explore your reasoning. The kiss eases back, becomes gentle and he coaxes a response from you. He doesn’t deepen the kiss, doesn’t force your lips open like Bro does, doesn’t even put his hands on you. When he pulls away, you watch him, trying to figure out what he wants from you. It doesn’t help, he looks as confused by the kiss as you feel. 

“I.. Shit. I’m sorry. You just got out of a shitty relationship, and the last thing you need is me pushing myself on you. Fuck, I fucked up. Way to go, Vantas, you stuck your fucking foot in it again. I’m gonna go.” 

You panic. That’s pretty much all you can put it down to. You can’t just let him leave. You launch from the swing and attach your lips to his a little more forcefully than you intended. You touch your tongue to his bottom lip, and slip it into his mouth when he opens to you. His tongue hesitantly meets yours, and you let your hands fall onto his waist. You pull away before either of you get too involved in the kiss, and watch his face, worried that he’s still going to freak out and leave you. You probably just made things a fuck load more complicated, but you couldn’t bear the thought that he’d leave and you wouldn’t hear from him again. You sink into a comfortable silence with him, neither of you move away from the other. You decide to simply take the comfort that’s offered to you, and let your head fall to rest against his shoulder.


	9. Chapter 9

**== > Be the Other Guy **

You are now the other guy. Your name is Karkat Vantas and you might have just fucked up one of your only friendships. 

You kissed him. Dave had just told you that he’d left the bastard that’s been hitting him, and you go and cram your lips against his as though his lips hold the secret to eternal youth. Sure, he fell back on his usual ‘piss-Karkat-off-so-we-don’t-talk-about-feelings’ thing, but why the fuck did past you think that kissing him was an effective way of shutting him up? Why the fuck is present you still kissing him? You pull away from him, and you can feel the heat in your cheeks as you try and explain yourself. 

“I.. Shit. I’m sorry. You just got out of a shitty relationship, and the last thing you need is me pushing myself on you. Fuck, I fucked up. Way to go, Vantas, you stuck your fucking foot in it again. I’m gonna go.”

You’re already moving to leave when he grabs your hand and pulls you back against him, his lips pressing against yours in a kiss that speaks of experience and lacks the fumbling pressure of your kiss. His tongue flicks against your bottom lip briefly, and you’ve watched enough rom-coms to figure out what comes next. The thing you don’t know is whether you’ll be any good at it. His tongue slips past your lips as you part them and your own tongue rises to hesitantly meet him. Fingers grasp your hips and you move closer to him, letting your body rest against his. 

He pulls away too soon, and you almost groan at the loss of his mouth against yours. You don’t follow him back or try to kiss him again though, you’re not that daft. Instead, you stand in the circle of his arms, silently, as his head leans against your shoulder. You’re not actually sure how long you stay like that, leaning against each other, but your phone vibrating seems to jolt you both back to reality. You know who it is before you even check it. The sun has set, and your brother is calling you home. The phone slides back into your pocket as you look at Dave. 

“My idiot brother is calling me home, so I’ve gotta take off”, he shrugs slightly and steps away from you, letting you leave. You don’t – not right away, anyway. You hang back, your fingers intertwining with his as you stand there, not willing to leave things as they are. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? Meet me at the benches?” You hate how insecure you sound. Why do things always seem so simple in movies? All it takes is a kiss, and suddenly they’re in love. Sure, they usually have a stupid argument about something that could have been avoided if they’d actually spoken to each other instead of jumping to conclusions, but it’s easily fixed. They certainly never seem to be as awkward as you feel right now. 

Dave nods in reply, and you feel some of the tension leave your shoulders. At least he doesn’t hate you. You let him go and start the walk home. When you turn back he’s still watching you, standing in the same spot you left him in. He watches you leave, his eyes following you until you turn the corner. You live about 10 minutes away from the park, so it doesn’t take you long to get home. It is long enough to cause your brother to give you a five-minute lecture about being home in time for dinner, and calling for a ride if you don’t think you’ll make curfew. Of course, you point out that his lecture has made you 15 minutes late for dinner, as opposed to the 10-minute walk home. He doesn’t appreciate your assistance though, and you’re almost certain your eyes are going to fall out of your head with all the eye-rolling. Seriously, nothing shuts the guy up, so you’ve taken to doing everything you can to aggravate him in the hopes of him pissing off. It hasn’t worked yet, but you’re hopeful. 

Dinner is a quiet affair; your dad’s working late and you’re too busy thinking about everything that’s happened in the last few weeks to make conversation. Kankri doesn’t seem to mind, though, he’s holding a very one-sided conversation with you that you’re not paying attention to. For all you know, it’s a continuation of the lecture you were subjected to when you got home. Actually, you’d be surprised if it isn’t. Kankri is kind of famous for his lectures. You head to your room after dinner, and fuck around on pesterchum with John and Gamzee. You don’t open a new chat with Dave, don’t want to pressure him into anything. 

**== > Be the Cool Kid **

Your name is Dave Strider, and you’re on your way home from the park. It’s late, you stayed there for a few hours after Karkat left, not wanting to go home, and face the reality of your actions. You’re on the stairs when you hear the voice of Bro’s friend. Jake, or Joe, or something. Some loser that thinks walking through the park counts as an ‘adventure’, and constantly dresses like Steve Irwin reincarnated. You honestly don’t know what your brother sees in him. He reaches to ruffle your hair as he passes you, spouting some nonsense about how it’s good to see you, and how you should hang around the house more often. 

Right, because it’s not like you don’t have enough to worry about without adding entertaining Bro’s friends to the list. No thanks. 

Bro’s in the loungeroom when you let yourself in, My Little Ponies is playing on the TV, and you have to stifle a groan. You’re almost certain that his love for the show goes beyond irony – not that you’d mention that to him. Dinner must have consisted of pizza because there’s an empty box on the counter. Considering the time, you don’t bother checking to see if there are leftovers. Besides, there’s nothing in the fridge but Bro’s collection of shitty swords. 

He doesn’t look at you as you walk past the back of the couch to your bedroom. In fact, he gives no clue that he’s noticed you at all. You know this because you haven’t moved your gaze since you entered the lounge room, not until you’re closing your bedroom door behind you. You grab your homework from your bag and settle at your desk, allowing yourself to get lost in the monotony of the work. 

 ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

You meet Karkat at the benches as you’d agreed. You got to school pretty early and sat on the benches while you waited. You managed to get all your homework done last night, so you allow yourself to slump against the table while you wait for him. It doesn’t take him long to show up, which is surprising, considering it wasn’t much later than 7 am when you’d left the apartment. He looks as nervous as you feel, though you’re not sure why. You’ve been dreading this moment all night. You don’t regret the kiss, not really, but you have no idea what you’re supposed to do now. Do you have to kiss him a lot, or will he want more than that? Your fingers twitch a little; a nervous habit that you didn’t even realise you had. He sits beside you on the bench. You don’t like the awkward silence that settles over the two of you, suffocating and heavy, trampling every thought you have. You can’t stand it. 

“Hey, Karkles. Did you dream about me last night?”

You can practically feel his tension release before he speaks, clearly glad to be back on familiar footing. “I should have fucking guessed that nothing would change between us. You’re still the most infuriating douche muffin that ever fucking existed. Do you deliberately try to piss me off, or does it just come naturally?”

“It’s all a part of my natural charm, Kar-kitty. You wouldn’t be head-over-heels in love with me if it wasn’t. And what do you mean ‘nothing’s changed’? I rocked your world, babe.” You smirk at him; glad things aren’t overly awkward right now. Sure, you’ve done your usual ignore-it-‘til-it-goes-away thing, but the ants have stopped marching in your stomach, and the urge to puke has lessened, so you’re okay with that. 

“Oh my fucking God, you self-important, conceited twat. I’m not ‘head over heels’ for you, and how the fuck would you rock my world with one kiss?” Your voice hikes up an octave as you continue, pretending to be one of the fans he’s always going on about. “Ooooh, Strider. Your kiss kept me up all night. I’ll never kiss another person now that I’ve had you. Every time I touch myself, it’ll be because I’m thinking of an obnoxious loser that wears shades that are too big for his face.”

“Hey man, you said it. It’s a nice picture, though. Hey, if that’s what happens when you’ve been kissed, we should really do that camping trip you were going on about. You know, the one where we skinny dip and share a tent.” You waggle your eyebrows at him, enjoying the frustration that he still hasn’t learned how to hide. You hold up your hand as he opens his mouth, stopping him before he starts. “Yeah, yeah. I know. You couldn’t possibly go camping with me. There’s no way in hell that you’d survive an entire weekend with me. The close proximity to that much pure, concentrated awesome would scar you for life. You might even end up blinded. I couldn’t subject you to that, Karkat. I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to turn down your romantic weekend getaway. You’re heartbroken, I’m sure.”

He does a pretty good impression of a fish, you decide. His mouth is opening, but you’ve frustrated him to the point that he can’t form a response. It’s a personal best. You’ve never rendered him speechless before. You didn’t even think it was possible to do. The number of people walking past you two increases while he’s gaping at you, so you nudge him with your shoulder and grab your bag. You’re probably still a bit early for classes, but you’re not a fan of picking your way through the crowd. The bruises on your shoulders have faded a little, but you’d rather avoid taking an accidental hit if you can help it. 

You might not have sorted anything out with Karkat, but you can’t help but feel better about where you are. You’re still friends, and things are pretty much back to normal, as long as you forget about the whole kiss situation. He walks beside you to your lockers, and it’s a miracle that you manage to avoid every stray elbow and hand. You should walk with Karkat more often; People just seem to move out of his way. It does help that he’s grumbling profanities at anyone that even looks like they might cross his path, or cut him off. 

You spend more time chatting to him on pesterchum than you do taking notes in class. You know you’ll regret it later, especially when it’s time to do your homework, but you really can’t bring yourself to care. He holds your hand at lunch. Just sits beside you and rests his hand in yours. You tense up at first, flinching when his hand brushes against yours. When he doesn’t notice, you silently thank Bro for your shades. You do relax into the touch, eventually. Your fingers thread through his, and you don’t look at his face. Instead, you watch your intertwined hands, the people around you, your phone; anything to avoid looking at his face and the look of expectation that you’re sure is waiting for you. You separate at the end of the lunch break, moving to your respective classes. You tell yourself that you don’t miss the contact.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am, dropping the latest chapter. There is a fair bit more planned, I've just been hella sick and swamped with uni.

Bro is in the kitchen when you get home. You’re almost certain he’s waiting for you, but a raised brow is all you get in acknowledgement when you nod at him. Your fingers clench around the strap of your backpack, and you hover in the doorway, not sure whether you should flee or stay. Only when he drops his gaze and turns away do you leave and rush to your room. You lock the door and slump against it as your bag falls to the floor. 

You can hear him moving around the apartment, louder than usual. Of course, the usual is total silence, so you know he’s doing it to keep you on your toes. You sit on your bed, scrolling through Tumblr mindlessly as you track Bro through the apartment. He stops in each room, and each time you strain to hear what he’s doing. It’s what he wants: your undivided attention, no matter his proximity. The screen of your phone turned off a while ago, but you haven’t moved. You’re still cradling the phone, intently watching your door as you listen to him traverse the apartment. Your chest tightens every time you hear him walk toward your bedroom, only to release when you hear him move on. He stops in the hallway, and you swear you can hear him breathing on the other side of your door. 

You’re silent; you can’t even bring yourself to breathe, even as your lungs burn in protest. The door handle moves so slightly that you’re not even sure it happened, but as quickly as it started, it ends. Silence engulfs the apartment again; the breathing and footsteps are gone, and your anxiety builds. Memories of the last time he left you unpunished come pounding back into your mind. Your fingers twitch against your blanket, your phone long forgotten, as you fight with yourself. Decision made, you walk quietly to your door and open it before slipping out into the hall. The apartment is dark, the only light creeps out from Bro’s slightly open door. You can hear him typing on his computer, the quiet clicking of the keys is methodical, and it occurs to you that he must be working on his website. Your fingers itch to reach for the door handle, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. You clench your hands and turn back the way you came. His chuckle follows you down the hall, mocking you. The sound settles over you like a second skin, coating you in filth that you can’t shake. You bypass your bedroom and head directly for the shower. 

Steaming water hits your skin in hard beats, rhythmic and burning as you scrub yourself. The loofah is rough against your skin, the body wash stings in the places that you’ve scrubbed too hard, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Your skin is pink and irritated when you step out of the shower and you ignore the pain of the towel scratching against your over sensitised chest. Bro’s door is shut tightly when you let yourself back into your bedroom to get dressed. You stay in your room until you hear him calling you. Your chest clenches at his voice. 

“Dave.”

You don’t think twice. Your bedroom door is open in seconds and you’ve dashed out into the lounge room. His brow is raised above his shades and he nods toward the Curry sitting on the coffee table. You grab your Rogan Josh and head to your room, mumbling a quick “thanks” on your way past him. You don’t make it far. His hand curls around your upper arm and you nearly lose your container of food. You swallow, and his eyes track the movement of your throat. 

“Yeah, Bro?” You hate the way your voice sounds timid and unsure. 

“Sit down and eat your food. I’m sick of food being left in your bedroom.” 

You glance over at the lounge then back at Bro’s face, but you don’t argue. Instead, you nod silently and move to sit at the edge of the couch. He doesn’t brush up against you tonight. He just sits and eats his food, then goes back to his room. You throw away the containers when you’re finished. There’s never any leftovers, which is a good thing because the last thing you need is a night of dodging swords while trying to put them in the fridge. 

Bro enters your room an hour after you lock yourself in. You didn’t even see the door handle move, and you’re struck again by how futile your efforts are. You’ll never keep him out if he doesn’t want it, so you honestly don’t know why you bother anymore. Butterflies flap furiously in your stomach, and a jolt of excitement spreads through your body. You’d like to feign ignorance and say that you don’t know how it starts, but every moment with Bro is seared into your memory like a brand. He owns you. 

You back away as he comes toward you, only stopping when he traps your body against your desk. He doesn’t press against you – not yet, anyway. Hell, he doesn’t even touch you. You fidget under his scrutiny. Your jaw clenches and your fingers twitch against your legs. You nervously lick your bottom lip before you move to press against him. Your mouth claims his, and his hands immediately swoop down to lift you up and walk you to your bed. Your shoulders relax when he kisses you back, even as your stomach threatens to revolt against your actions. He smirks beneath your lips and your stomach rolls in disgust. You’re hard long before his fingers search for the hem of your shirt, and he starts undressing you. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

You can barely look Karkat in the eye when you see him at school. He met you at the benches again and sat with you until you walked to your lockers together. Even now, in the middle of class, you can’t bring yourself to look in his direction. You feel dirty, and you can’t even blame Bro for that. You kissed him; You wanted him. And then there’s Karkat: looking at you like you hung the moon for him. Guilt threatens to smother you, and all you can do is pretend that everything is fine. You force yourself to focus on the lesson, scribbling down more notes in 70 minutes than you have in an entire year just so that you have an excuse not to look at Karkat, or think about last night. It almost works. 

You don’t hold his hand at lunch. He drags you from the cafeteria as soon as you’ve both finished eating. You follow him, not that you could do anything else without giving up possession of your arm; you’ve grown quite attached to that arm. He comes to a stop at a large tree at the edge of the schoolyard. You lean against it, one foot pushed against the trunk, and he rolls his eyes fondly. You wonder when fondness grew from irritation. A month ago, he wanted nothing to do with you. He stands in front of you, his hand still holding yours, and you open your legs slightly so that he can stand between them. You still haven’t talked about what happened, and you’re not willing to lose him by bringing it up. You’re together, you think. At least, he’s acting like you are. He leans toward you and hesitantly presses against you. You kiss him out of impulse, your hands in the pocket of his jeans even as your brain screams for you to abscond. You’re not scared of him, you know that, but it’s wrong, and he’s Karkat, and he shouldn’t want that. 

Your eyes feel hot and prickly when you pull from him, but he doesn’t move from between your legs. Instead, he lets his forehead fall to rest on your shoulder. You stare ahead, your unseeing gaze fixed on a spot past his shoulder as you swallow your unease and discomfort. The bell rings and you jolt as Karkat moves away from you. You’re not even sure how much time had passed, but the smiles he gives you has heat pooling in your stomach, and you take his hand as you walk back toward the building.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave is still hella awkward, and Karkat thinks he's being let in.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you’re not exactly sure how you made it here. 

It’s been weeks since you kissed Karkat, and you’re dating now. It’s nice, you guess. He’s happy to just hang out and hasn’t pressured for you to do much, other than spending more time together. He’s been pestering you about it since you made it official with him. You haven’t bothered to ask Bro about it. You know he wouldn’t let you go out for the night (if last time is any indication), and you’re not sure if you want Karkat to come to your place. Bro isn’t exactly easy to get along with. Still, you don’t know how you’ll keep putting him off now that you’re on spring break. Today is your first day on break and he started blowing up your phone yesterday, asking to come over, so when you hear a knock at the door, your heart practically jumps into your throat. 

You flash-step to the front door before the knocking even stops, and pull the door open, ready to pull Karkat into your room before Bro can corner you both. You’re already pulling him into the apartment before you realise that it’s not Karkat. You look back at the guy only to find a bemused, but not entirely unhappy, Jeff. Or Jake? The Steve Irwin wannabe. You’ve done it now. Alerted the guy to your presence and now he’s gonna want you to spend time with them. He’s harmless, but fucking annoying. If John and Jade had a hyperactive love child, it’d be this guy. Plus, he thinks he’s your friend and tries to talk to Bro for you – not that you’ve ever asked. He just thinks he’s doing a wonderful thing. _‘Bro, why don’t you take Dave to the movies? He’s gotta be bored here. You could take him to see that new “Mummy” film that’s coming out.’_ Or _‘Bro, you should spend more time with Dave. He’s a good kid and I’m sure he wants to be closer to you’_. You know, because you _need_ to be closer to Bro. Bro, of course, doesn’t appreciate the advice. You’re almost certain that he thinks you encourage the guy to do it. 

Bro is watching you from his doorway, smirking at you, and you feel yourself start to blush. You duck your head slightly to hide it – Striders don’t blush – but you know that he’s aware of your reaction. He’s Bro, after all. He walks out to greet his friend and you give them a wide berth as you head back to the comfortable isolation of your room. 

“Dave, why don’t you stay and hang out with us? I brought the Stargate movies and popcorn.” You haven’t turned around but you can fucking hear the hopeful grin on his face. 

“Nah, man, that’s okay. I promised I’d pester Karkles. You know how it goes, everyone wants a piece of my hot ass, and I can’t just leave ‘em hangin’. He’d be devastated if he thought I’d moved onto other bitches and blown him off. He can’t live without me.” You talk to Jake, but your eyes never leave Bro’s impassive face. Honestly, if you weren’t so worried about what he’s thinking or planning, you’d be impressed by just how inexpressive he can be. When he doesn’t say anything, you take it as your cue to flee back to your room, ignoring whatever the dork is whining to convince you to stay and hang with them. 

Your phone chimes as you close your door and you sag against the wood as you unlock your phone. 

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering  turntechGodhead [TG]

CG: I’M ON MY WAY OVER, STRIDER, SO GET READY. I’LL BE THERE IN FIVE MINUTES.   
TG: hey babe i know you cant wait to get this dick but give a guy a little warning   
TG: i could have had a hoard of girls over here worshipping my godly body and now youve gone and ruined it   
CG: IDIOT, I HATE TO BREAK THIS TO YOU, BUT I’M ALMOST CERTAIN THAT YOU’RE GAY. YOU’VE NEVER EVEN SO MUCH AS LOOKED AT A GIRL TO MY KNOWLEDGE. I HIGHLY DOUBT YOU’VE SUDDENLY SWITCHED TEAMS   
TG: you wound me karkles   
TG: its not that i want them they just cant get enough of me theyre just like   
TG: oh strider youre the smartest and best looking guy in the whole town marry me   
TG: and then im left having to break their hearts and tell them that this gorgeous hunk is taken   
TG: its a terrible time for all involved   
CG: OH MY GOD, I’M DATING A MORON. ARE YOU HOME OR NOT, BECAUSE I’M TURNING ONTO YOUR STREET NOW   
TG: nah man ill meet you downstairs and we can go to the park or something bros in a weird mood  


You only feel a little bad for lying to him about Bro, but the last thing you want is for him to interrogate Karkat, or for his friend to drag you both into some weird double date. Bro doesn’t even know you’re dating, and you’d rather keep it that way for as long as you can. You don’t even know how to bring up that little point with Karkat, so you’ve just been trying to avoid having them in the same place. He isn’t the type of guy that would just accept it if you told him you wanted to keep your relationship a secret. 

You slide your phone into the pocket of your skinny jeans and quickly make your way to the front door. You’re about to slip through and into the hall when Bro’s voice stops you. 

“Where’re you goin’, little man?” You’re not entirely sure what to make of it. He sounds happy, or at least not like he’s going to force you to stay home. 

“Park,” you reply, careful to keep your voice level. “Karkat’s waiting for me downstairs and we’re gonna hang out for a while.” He hums in response, but you don’t move to leave yet. It’s too soon to tell with Bro. “Is that cool?” 

“Yeah. We’re getting Chinese for dinner, so bring him back. Jake’s staying too, and he can take him home afterwards if he wants.” 

You don’t bother replying, you’re too dumbfounded by his invitation. The door shuts behind you before you realise that something’s up. Not that you can do anything about it now. Your mind is still swimming when you make it out onto the street. Karkat’s waiting for you, tapping his foot against the cement footpath with impatience. You can almost see him swallowing the mouthful of choice words that he’s clearly been working on while waiting for you. You’d tell him that one of the reasons you like him is because he has no filter, but honestly, it’s just too amusing watching him try to be nice to you. Especially when he slips and falls back onto old habits, then tries to apologise. You’ll probably take pity on him one of these days. Maybe. 

“It’s about time, Strider. How long does it take you to walk down some fucking stairs?” Yeah, so even his toned-down attitude is still pretty testy. 

“Sorry man, Bro cornered me on the way out. He wants you to come over for dinner. It was fucking weird, too. He sounded happy,” you say, with a look of horror on your face. Karkat rolls his eyes at you, but looks way too pleased at the idea of being invited over for dinner. After all, he’s only been to your place once, and that was when he barged into your room and forced you to go back to school. You’ve been careful not to give him a reason to force another visit since then. 

You walk to the park together, his hand finding its way into yours as you cross the street. You’ve always felt a little awkward when holding hands. You feel like you’re five again, with Bro squeezing your hand to stop you from wandering into traffic. Not that you ever did, of course, you were a Strider, after all. Karkat hangs at your side as you enter the park and you both wander over to the swings. You’re not going to play on the equipment, but you’re both happy to bask in the company of each other as you loiter and render the swings useless for all the kids that do want to play. Karkat stands between your legs after you sit. You’re almost certain that he does that so that he can feel taller than you for once. Even standing like he is, he’s only a head taller than you. 

He squeezes your hand, still trapped in his, and you lean your head against his shoulder. You might not feel the most comfortable with affection, but you have to admit that Karkat knows how to deal with you. He hasn’t pushed you past kissing, and he seems to understand that sometimes you just need this; unhurried company, free from expectations beyond being together. Not that you’ll ever admit it out loud, but Karkat has become your rock. He’s the constant presence that keeps you from blowing up at someone or hurting yourself.

And let’s face it, you really need the stability. Not that you’ve ever hurt yourself deliberately, you get enough of that, but you can appreciate the burn of pain that lances through your when you bump a bruise or rub against a cut. It grounds you, reminds you that you’re alive and kicking, rather than floating through your existence, waiting for the next reminder. Yeah. You think you could easily hurt yourself, if you needed to. In response to your thoughts, your free hand reaches for the fading finger prints on your hips, pressing against them and relishing in the fresh bloom of pain. You know it won’t last long, the bruise will be gone soon, and you’ll be itching for it back. 

Karkat says something and you snap your head up in guilt, watching him for a sign that he knows what you’re thinking. It’s stupid, you know, but you can’t help the constant fear that he’ll figure out that you’re tainted. He smiles, still caught up in the wonder of being invited to your place for dinner. You squeeze his hand slightly, barely conceivable, to convey your anxiety at the prospect. He doesn’t notice, or doesn’t understand the message behind it, because his head moves closer to yours. You still as his lips close over yours. You’re not sure how long you stay that way before your fingers push into your hips and spur you into responding to his kiss. He sighs against your lips as he pulls away, and you mirror the action, though for different reasons, you’re sure. 

Time passes in much the same way as it always does. You spout some sick rhymes while Karkat tries to make you stop. He doesn’t mean it, of course, you’re a Strider. You are the best at laying down rhymes. Eventually, though, you fall quiet. As the sun sets a ball of dread forms in your stomach and you’re not sure if you should grow a set and head home or try to stall and miss dinner. You know which one you’d prefer. If you could skip the consequences, you’d never go home again. Not that you say a word of that to Karkat. As the last of the light leaves the sky, you grab his hand, tighter than you meant to, and head back to your apartment.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so there's a sex-scene/rape-scene, but it's not over explicit. No, thats a lie, it's explicit but you cant really skip it because it's how the thing ends so I super apologise for it. It's less about the rape and more about emotions and thoughts that dave has, and the way that Bro uses him.

Bro and his friend are waiting for you when you get home. The moron bestows you with a look of pure, unadulterated joy at the fact that you’re home in time to have dinner with them. Bro, on the other hand, looks as though it’s past midnight and he’s been waiting for you to bring his teenaged daughter home from the prom. You’re not sure if he’s pissed that your home, or that you’re later than he expected, but the lead ball in your gut gets heavier under the force of his stare. You drop Karkat’s hand before his eyes flick over you, and you’re grateful for that small mercy. Karkat and the moron don’t notice the tension between you and your brother, even as you mumble an apology for being late. Bro remains passive, and you take that as permission to enter the kitchen and grab yours and Karkat’s food. You’re about to escape to the safety of your room when Jake calls out to you. 

“We’re in the lounge room, boys.”

It’s not much, but it stops you in your tracks. If it were just him, you’d have ignored it, but you saw the look on Bro’s face when you got home. It’s as though he was just itching for an excuse, and you ignoring his best friend would be the perfect catalyst. You groan internally as you turn back towards them, Karkat following close behind. Bro still seems pissed at you, but he doesn’t look at you again. His eyes are glued to the tv, but you know he’s not paying it any attention. You can feel him watching you and Karkat, waiting for him to slip up and let on that he knows about you. He doesn’t. You’re not stupid enough to risk your relationship just so that you can feel a little less guilty. 

You sit further away from Karkat than you normally would, but he doesn’t notice. Like Bro, your eyes are focussed on whatever asinine movie Jake has forced on you. You’re not sure what it is because you’re staring at Bro, watching his every movement, waiting for the night to be over. You answer Karkat noncommittally when he talks, and you’re glad that Bro was actually listening to the conversation. You snap back to reality as you hear his deep voice join the others. 

“No, man, sorry. Dave has shit to do tonight. If he can keep his shit together and behave himself,” he favours you with a hard look, “he could probably have you over again before the break is over.”

Karkat looks at you and you shrug. There isn’t much you can say to change his mind, even if you wanted to. And you don’t. Having Karkat and your brother in the same room for a meal was hard enough, let alone an entire night. Especially when you know the grilling you’re going to get when Jake takes him home. You don’t argue the point, though you can tell that they both want you to. Karkat wants you to argue for his sake, and Bro is daring you to do it so that he has reason to take away his tentative permission for later during the break. You catch Karkat’s eye and shake your head just enough that his unvoiced negotiations die in his throat.

The room falls into silence for a while, only broken by the sounds of the forgotten movie still playing on the tv, until finally, Jake says that they have to leave. You follow them to the door, glad when Bro stays where he is. Clearly, he and Jake aren’t the kind of friends that need to see each other out. Still, you follow them out and loiter with Karkat in the hallway, your head taking residence in the crook of his neck. You stiffen a little as his hands rest on your hips but relax when they don’t move again. 

“Pester me tomorrow?” you say when Jake clears his throat. You know the whole exchange will be relayed to Bro later when Jake pesters him, and you pull away quickly. Karkat looks hurt at the abruptness, but you brush it off as soon as the elevator doors close around them. You wait in the hallway for a while longer before you make your way back inside. 

When you make it back to the lounge room, Bro is nowhere to be seen, but the Chinese containers are scattered over the floor where you and Karkat had been, and the arms of the couch where Bro and Jake were. Quickly, you gather the containers and deposit them in the kitchen, then dart to your bedroom before Bro decides to make himself known again. You don’t bother with the light as you hear the door click closed behind you. You’re well aware of your mess, and you could navigate it blind with your hands tied behind your back. It’s the utter stillness, though, that has you questioning that decision. Your room is always quiet, of course, unless your music is playing, but tonight you don’t even hear the constant, quiet hum of your computer. The lights on your computer tower aren’t lit up and you’re almost certain that you left it on before you went to meet Karkat.

Hands grab you from behind as you start to turn to find Bro. You’ve half a mind to confront him about snooping in your room, but his grasp on your upper body forces you to be still. Besides, you figure, if he was just snooping, he’d never have turned it off. He wanted you to notice. You can smell his shampoo as he leans in and rubs himself against your body. 

“So. That’s the boyfriend, is it?”

You nod, not sure what you’re supposed to say in response. Of course, that’s ‘the boyfriend’. He knows it as well as you do. What you don’t know is whether you’re going to still have a boyfriend in the morning. Okay, so it might not be that dire, but Bro’s always been unpredictable, and you haven’t really tested the theory of his possessiveness. For all you know, you might find yourself without a boyfriend in the morning. Let’s face it, Bro’s always had a thing for watching you squirm. 

His hands clamp around your chest, anchoring you to him and holding you still. You pull away, struggling against his grip as he tightens his hold on your body. A protest dies in your throat as you allow your body to sag against him. Bro hums his approval of your acquiescence, and you close your eyes against the image of Karkat that your brain throws at you. Fingers travel down your stomach and slip below the waist of your pants. Your breath hitches as his hand circles your half-hard cock, and you hate yourself for getting hard for your brother when your boyfriend left barely five minutes ago. 

“You haven’t done anything with him.” It’s not a question, but you nod anyway. You know better than to leave that sort of statement hanging in the air to accumulate doubts and questions of how much time you’ve been spending away and with Karkat. You’ll do anything to avoid having that freedom taken away, and you’re certain Bro knows this as well as you do. He smiles at your response and thrusts himself against your ass.

It’s a matter of seconds before his fingers deftly flick open your fly and he turns you around to face him. Your jeans are discarded quickly, and he pushes you down to your knees in front of him. You waste no time, no matter how distasteful you find this, and divest him of his jeans. His cock bounces in your face as you free it, and Bro watches you expectantly. You’re hesitant as you reach for his dick. You’ve only done this once before, and it wasn’t exactly enjoyable for you. Steeling yourself, you shake the image from your mind as you bring your mouth closer to him. You grimace when your mouth envelops him. The acrid taste of urine clings to the slit, and you barely manage not to gag in response. You don’t look up at him as you fight through your baser instincts and touch your tongue to him again. The taste dissipates eventually, or maybe you grow used to it, and you slowly take him deeper into your mouth, experimenting with your limits. 

His fingers curl into your hair, tugging you back slightly before he pushes your face further, pushing his dick further into your mouth. His hips move in concert with your head, and you give up all pretence of sucking as you feel your throat constrict against him. Instead, you loosen your mouth and let him fuck you. You gag when he thrusts too far, and he eyes you warily but doesn’t stop his ministrations. You can feel spit sliding from the corner of your mouth, dripping from your chin onto your chest and stomach, mixing with your own precome. Your fingers follow your trail of spit before you allow yourself to touch yourself, rubbing the mixture into the length of your cock as you stroke yourself.

A particularly deep thrust makes you gag, and you look up as your eyes water from the close introduction of his dick to your uvula. Bro smirks at you as he delivers another punch of his dick. You groan as your hands flutter away from your erection. Your hands clench into the carpet beside your knees to stop yourself from grabbing your dick again. Without the distraction of your own erection, your attention focused completely on the way your jaw is stretched around bro, the drag of your teeth if you try to lessen the width of your mouth, the way he fills your mouth as completely as he does your ass. His hips stutter as his thrusts get faster and shallower, and you can feel his balls tighten with his impending release. 

You prepare yourself mentally for the inevitability of having to swallow, prepare for the rush of sour salt as he floods your mouth. You can almost feel the moment when he comes, but you’re surprised when he pulls his cock from your mouth after the first pulse of seed on your tongue. Instead, he positions himself over your face and watches as he coats you in string after string of pearlescent fluid. He chuckles as he stands you up, your dick still painfully hard and pressing against your abdomen, and runs his thumb through the mess on your face, spreading it along your cheekbones before he leans down and crushes your lips beneath his. He bites your bottom lip hard before he lets go. 

“You’re mine, Dave. Remember that.”

He leaves you in the darkness of your room, blood from your lip mixing with your saliva and his semen as you heave in both disgust and relief. You sink to your knees again without his support, and your hand grabs your dick. It doesn’t take long to bring yourself off, and you’re disgusted with yourself as your clean your face, then your dick. Tears fall from your eyes, and you’re not even sure why you’re crying. Your hands scratch at your bare thighs, clawing at the soft flesh as you struggle to remain silent.  
You could need the pain. You know you could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm. I think I can actually end it here? I'm not sure if I will, but i like the poignancy of it, and I like the way that it's open-ended and makes you wonder about what might actually happen. I wasnt gonna end it here, and i may still come back, but I'm feeling this. Sorry?

**Author's Note:**

> Send me prompts at nopethefuckout.tumblr.com


End file.
